ili!;;::!:!H;!:;^:;r!i$!ii:iii#i^]«Sl^^^^^^ 


HE  BOOK  OF 


MARYWRIGHT  DAVIS 


LINCOLN  ROOM 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


MEMORIAL 

the  Class  of  1901 

founded  by 

HARLAN  HOYT  HORNER 

and 

HENRIETTA  CALHOUN  HORNER 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


"  ...  It  is  the  eternal  struggle  between  these  two  prin- 
ciples— right  and  wrong — throughout  the  world.  They 
are  the  two  principles  that  have  stood  face  to  face  from 
the  beginning  of  time,  and  will  ever  continue  to  struggle. 
The  one  is  the  common  right  of  humanitj,  and  the  other 
the  divine  right  of  kings.  .  .  ." 


ABRAHAM   I.INCOLK,   AVHEN    NOMINATED    FOR    PRESIDENT, 
MAY,    18G0 


THE    BOOK    OF 
LINCOLN 


COMPILED   BY 

MARY  WRIGHT-DAVIS 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  XaJr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1919, 
By  George  H.  Doran  Coinpany 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


U  awfsb 

eoQ.  I 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  FATHER 

WILLIAM  MAITLAND   WRIGHT 

14TH  MASSACHUSETTS  VOLUNTEERS 

1842       (1861-65)       1906 


When  they  are  dead,  we  heap  the  laurels  high 
Above  them,  where  indifferent  they  lie — " 


FOREWORD 


LEADERS   OF   MEN 


When  they  are  dead,  we  heap  the  laurels  high 
Above  them,  where  indifferent  they  lie; 

We  join  their  deeds  to  unaccustomed  praise 
And  crown  with  garlands  of  immortal  bays 
Whom,  living,  we  but  thought  to  crucify. 

As  mountains  seem  less  glorious,  viewed  too  nigh. 
So  often  do  the  great  whom  we  decry 
Gigantic  loom  to  our  astonished  gaze. 
When  they  are  dead. 

For,  shamed  by  largeness,  littlenesses  die; 
And,  partisan  and  narrow  hates  put  by, 

We  shrine  our  heroes  for  the  future  days. 

Arid  to  atone  our  ignorant  delays 
With  fond  and  emulous  devotion  try, 
When  they  are  dead! 

Florence  Eaele  Coates. 


[vii] 


PREFACE 

THE  unceasing  fascination  which  the  story  of  Lincoln 
holds  for  writers  finds  satisfying  explanation  in  the 
following  epitome — itself  a  poem — by  Brand  Whitlock, 
from  his  biography  of  Abraham  Lincoln : 

"The  story  of  Lincoln,  perfect  in  its  unities,  appealing 
to  the  imagination  like  some  old  tragedy,  has  been  told 
over  and  over,  and  will  be  told  over  and  over  again.  The 
log  cabin  where  he  was  born,  the  axe  he  swung  in  the 
backwoods,  the  long  sweep  to  which  he  bent  on  the  flat- 
boat  in  the  river,  the  pine  knot  at  midnight, — these  are 
the  rough  symbols  of  the  forces  by  which  he  made  his  own 
slow  way.  Surveyor  and  legislator,  country  lawyer  riding 
the  circuit,  politician  on  the  stump  and  in  Congi-ess,  the 
unwearied  rival  of  Douglas,  finally,  as  the  lucky  choice 
of  a  new  party,  the  President, — the  story  is  wholly  typical 
of  these  States  in  that  earlier  epoch  when  the  like  was  pos- 
sible to  any  boy.  But  the  story  does  not  end  here.  He  is 
in  the  White  House  at  last,  but  in  the  hour  when  realised 
ambitions  turn  to  ashes;  the  nation  is  divided,  a  crisis 
confronts  the  land,  and  menaces  the  old  cause  of  liberty. 
We  see  him  become  the  wise  leader  of  that  old  cause,  the 
sad,  gentle  captain  of  a  mighty  war,  the  liberator  of  a 
whole  race,  and  not  only  the  saviour  of  a  republic,  but  the 

[ix] 


PREFACE 


creator  of  a  nation ;  and  then,  in  the  very  hour  of  triumph, 
— the  tragedy  for  which  destiny  plainly  marked  him. 
Kightly  told,  the  story  is  the  epic  of  America." 

It  seems  fitting,  in  this  memorial  volume,  to  include  a 
few  of  Abraham  Lincoln's  own  utterances  which  express 
his  noble  personality  as  other  words,  however  felicitous, 
can  hardly  hope  to  do. 

The  Chronology  will  refresh  the  memory  as  to  the  se- 
quence of  events  in  this  most  eventful  life. 

The  greater  number  of  the  poems  are  here  collected  for 
the  first  time.  The  others  are  found,  very  properly,  in 
every  Lincoln  anthology. 

For  kindnesses  received  from  publishers,  authors,  and 
others,  in  the  making  of  this  book,  the  compiler  is  sin- 
cerely grateful. 

Maey  Weight-Davis. 


N 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword vii 

Preface ix 

The  Lincoln  Genealogy  and  Family  Tree  ...  17 

Chronology  of  the  Life  of  Lincoln 25 

Lincoln  Papers 31 

Abraham  Lincoln's  Place  in  History      ....  63 
Lincoln  in  Verse 

I    The  Source  of  Lincoln 69 

II    The  Mother  of  Lincoln 79 

III  To  President  Lincoln 83 

IV  The  First  American 89 

V    Gettysburg  Ode  ........  125 

VI    Lincoln  Mourned 137 

VII    Lincoln's  Grave 203 

VIII    Lincoln  in  Memorial 221 

IX    The  Living  Lincoln 251 

X    Lincoln's  Centenary  and  Other  Birth- 
days    275 

XI    Miscellanies 325 

XII    Washington  and  Lincoln 361 

Afterword 365 

[xi] 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Acknowledgments 369 

Bibliography 375 

Index  of  Authors 387 

Index  of  Titles 390 

Index  of  First  Lines 395 


[xii] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Abraham  Lincoln,  1860 Frontispiece 

PAGE 

First  Reading  of  the  Emancipation  Proclamation  52 

Seated  Statue  of  Lincoln  (Weinman)      ....  64 

President  Lincoln  and  His  Secretaries       ...  86 

Standing  Statue  of  Lincoln  (Weinman)       ...  92 

Standing  Statue  of  Lincoln  (French)     ....  128 

Standing  Statue  of  Lincoln  (O'Connor)      .      .     .  206 

Standing  Statue  of  Lincoln  (Saint-Gaudens)   .     .  222 

Bronze  Medal  of  Lincoln  (Brenner)      ....  228 

The  Life-Mask  of  Lincoln  (Volk) 232 

The  Emancipation  Group  (Ball) 234 

Seated  Statue  of  Lincoln  (Borglum)      ....  238 

The  Hands  of  Lincoln  (Volk) 244 

Standing  Statue  of  Lincoln  (Barnard)  ....  248 

The  Potomac  Lincoln  Memorial  Hall  (Bacon)      .  254 

Head  of  Lincoln  in  Marble  (Borglum)  ....  260 

Head  of  Lincoln  in  Plaster  (Barnard)  ....  278 

The   Hodgensville   Lincoln   Memorial   Building 

(Interior  And  Exterior) 290 

The  Lincoln  Home  at  Springfield 298 

The  Lincoln  Spring  (Hodgensville) 320 

[xiii] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

Abraham  Lincoln,  1864 326 

Abraham  Lincoln  and  His  Son  Thomas  ("Tad")    .  350 

Lincoln  and  His  Generals 354 

The  House  Where  Lincoln  Died 366 


The  sources  of  the  illustrations,  not  elsewhere  given,  are  as  fol- 
lows: 

The  French,  the  Saint-Gaudens,  and  the  Weinman  statues,  from 
the  studio  of  Mr.  deW.  C.  Ward,  New  York.  The  Hodgensville  Lin- 
coln Memorial  Building,  the  Lincoln  Cabin,  and  tlie  Lincoln  Spring, 
from  the  Lincoln  Memorial  Association,  through  the  courtesy  of 
Mr.  F.  D.  Casey,  Art  Editor  of  Collier's.  The  Borglum  statue 
(alone),  the  Emancipation  Group,  the  First  Reading  of  the  Eman- 
cipation Proclamation,  the  Potomac  Lincoln  Memorial  Building,  and 
the  House  Where  Lincoln  Died,  from  the  studio  of  Messrs.  Leet 
Brothers,  Washington.  The  Borglum  Head  of  Lincoln,  through  tho 
courtesy  of  Mr.  Charles  E.  Fairman,  Washington.  The  Barnard 
statue, 'from  Mr.  J.  S.  Banford,  Cincinnati.  The  O'Connor  statue, 
through  the  courtesy  of  the  sculptor,  Mr.  Andrew  O'Connor,  Paxton, 
Mass.  The  Brenner  medal,  from  the  studio  of  Mr.  A.  B.  Bogart, 
New  York.  The  others  are  from  the  famous  "Brady  Collection" 
now  owned  by  Mr.  L.  C.  Handy,  Washington. 

[xiv] 


THE  LINCOLN  GENEALOGY  AND 
FAMILY  TREE 


THE 

BOOK  OF   LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN  GENEALOGY  AND  THE  FAMILY 

TREE 

IT  has  been  the  general  belief,  a  belief  which  was 
shared  even  by  the  illustrious  President  himself, 
that  Abraham  Lincoln's  remote  ancestry,  as  well  as  his 
immediate  parentage,  was  of  the  humblest;  that  the  Lin- 
coln Familv  were  so  low  born  as  to  make  it  a  futile  task 
to  endeavour  to  penetrate  the  obscurity  from  which  they 
sprung,  and  that  the  commanding  figure  of  Abraham  Lin- 
coln was  a  mere  fortuitous  circumstance,  a  * 'sport"  of  na- 
ture, rather  than  the  result  of  centuries  of  inbred  and  in- 
herited qualities  derived  from  worthy  forefathers. 

In  view  of  the  indisputable  facts  of  the  poverty  of  his 
parents  and  his  own  consequent  early  struggle  against 
everv  disadvantage,  this  was  not  an  unnatural  conclusion 
to  be  reached  by  many  of  the  ephemeral  and  superficial 
writers  who  first  dealt  with  his  biography.  Their  hasty 
summaries  were  buttressed  and  built  upon  by  the  perfervid 
imaginations  of  penny-a-liners,  whose  sole  object  seems 
to  have  been  to  magnify  the  greatness  of  the  man  by  de- 
crvins:  his  origin,  until  their  fables  were  impressed  as 

[IT] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


facts  upon  the  minds  of  the  majority  of  even  the  more  in- 
telligent people  of  the  country. 

With  the  natural  tendency  of  popular  biographers, 
writing  to  please  the  proletariat,  all  stress  has  been  laid 
on  the  poverty  and  ignorance  of  Lincoln's  parents ;  and  out 
of  this  has  grown  the  vulgar  and  scandalous  conception 
that  Thomas  Lincoln  could  not  have  been  the  father  of  so 
great  a  son;  and  this  was  carried  so  far,  bitter  political 
enemies  having  joined  forces  with  his  illogical  partisans,^ 
as  to  have  denied  even  to  the  gentle  and  lovable  mother 
who  bore  him,  and  of  whom  he  always  spoke  with  such 
deep  reverence  and  affection,^  the  very  right  to  the  name 
by  which  she  was  known.' 

In  spite  of  this  general  acceptance  of  pauper  progeni- 
tors, there  were,  even  during  the  President's  lifetime,  some 
suspicions  of  the  truth ;  and  a  derivation  from  the  sturdy 
stock  of  the  Lincolns  of  Hingham,  Mass.,  was  suggested 

*  "I  condemn  the  man  [Herndon]  for  what  he  has  said  about  her" 
(Letter  of  J.  F.  Speed  to  Mrs.  C.  H.  Hitchcock,  8  February,  1895.) 
"If  Lincoln  ever  told  such  a  story  to  Herndon — which  may  be  con- 
fidently disbelieved — he  was  mistaken,  and  must  have  been  misled 
by  some  evil  wliisper  unhappily  brought  to  his  ears."  ( "The  Mother 
of  Lincoln,"  by  H.  M.  Jenkins,  Penn.  Hist.  Mag.,  vol.  xxiv,  p.  130.) 

'Holland's  Life  of  Lincoln,  p.  23. 

*  This  myth,  at  first  not  admitted  to  print,  existed  orally  and 
seems  to  have  crawled  into  the  light  of  day  in  the  maliciously  men- 
dacious statement  of  Herndon  that  Lincoln  himself  had  so  informed 
him  {Life  of  Lincoln,  vol.  i,  p.  3)  ;  the  fabrication  of  an  embittered 
office-seeker  whose  ambition  outran  his  ability,  and  whose  falsehood 
has  now  been  made  plain  by  recently  discovered  proofs  which  have 
swept  away  all  possible  doubts. 

[18] 


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THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


and  its  possibility  recognised  with  pleasure  by  Lincoln 
himself.^ 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  exact  re  .'erse  of  this  lowly  origin 
of  the  Lincoln  Family  was  the  case,  and  this  will  reach 
its  final  and  convincing  proof  in  the  following  pages,  in 
which  will  be  demonstrated  that  for  four  centuries  the 
ancestors  of  Abraham  Lincoln  were  easily  the  peers  of 
their  associates  in  England  as  well  as  in  America;  as 
prosperous  yeomen  or  minor  gentry  in  the  Old  World, 
and,  from  the  time  of  their  arrival  in  the  Colony,  fore- 
most in  the  ranks  of  those  who  developed  the  wilderness 
into  the  fair  land  we  love  to-day,  and  of  which  their  de- 
scendant was  destined  to  be  the  saviour. 

Of  the  eleven  generations  of  clearly  proven  ancestry, 
one  generation  only,  the  President's  unfortunate  father, 
has  been  unable  to  maintain  the  claim  of  primus  inter 
pares,  and  this  through  no  fault  of  his  own,  but  by  a  chain 
of  calamities  even  more  tragic  and  fatal  to  him  than  those 
which  deprived  Edward  Lincoln,  the  father  of  Samuel 
Lincoln,  the  English  emigrant,  of  his  birthright.^ 

Many  attempts  have  been  made  to  clear  away  the  mys- 
tery surrounding  the  genealogy  of  the  family,  beginning 
in  1848,  when  Hon.  Solomon  Lincoln,  the  well-known  his- 
torian of  Hingham,  Mass.,  in  correspondence  with  Abra- 
ham Lincoln,  then  a  member  of  Congress,  elicited  from 
him  his  scanty  knowledge  of  his  forefathers.     This  ma- 

^N.  E.  Hist.  Gen.  Reg.,  July,  1894,  vol.  xlviii,  p.  328. 
'See  English  Ancestry,  infra. 

[19] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


terial  was  not  printed  until  after  the  President's  death  ^ 
and  was  followed,  a  year  later,  by  the  best  of  the  early 
histories  of  Lincoln,^  in  which  was  set  forth  for  the  first 
time  an  outline  of  what  has  since  proved  to  be  substan- 
tially the  correct  pedigree  of  the  American  lineage. 

Gradually  other  contributions  to  the  truth  filtered  to 
light,  notably  those  of  Mr.  J.  W.  Potts  of  Camden,  IST.  J.,^ 
and  of  Mr.  Samuel  Shackford  of  Chicago,*  the  latter  be- 
ing a  masterly  resume  of  the  facts  proving  the  direct  de- 
scent of  the  President's  family  from  the  parent  stock  at 
Hingham,  Mass. 

The  American  Pedigi'ee  had  now  been  placed  upon  a 
sound  basis  and  accepted  by  all  intelligent  writers,  al- 
though certaiti  details  of  no  small  importance  to  the  truth 
of  history  still  remained  hidden  and  will  be  first  made  pub- 
lic here,  adding  important  names  and  lineages  to  the  pedi- 
gree, and,  in  some  cases,  disproving  statements,  honestly 
put  forward  as  facts,  but  which  will  not  bear  the  lime- 
light of  criticism,  and  whose  elimination  but  leaves  the 
proven  pedigree  stronger  by  so  much  in  the  test  which 
has  been  applied  to  it. 

The  English  Ancestry  had  remained  until  recently  an 
unsolved,  and  apparently  insoluble,  problem,  and  one  with 
which  the  American  author  had  battled  for  a  score  of 

^N.  E.  Hist.  Gen.  Reg.,  October,  1865,  vol.  xix,  p.  360. 
*  Life  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  by  J.  G.  Holland,  1866. 
'N.  Y.  Gen.  and  Biog.  Record,  April,  1872,  vol.  iii,  p.  69. 
*lf.  E.  Hist.  Gen.  Reg.,  April,  1887,  vol.  xli,  p.  153.    A  portion  of 
this  article  had  already  appeared  in  the  Chicago  Tribune. 

[20] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


years,  the  last  three  of  which  were  in  conjunction  with 
his  English  colleague,  to  whose  keen  eye  it  was  given  at 
last  to  detect  the  one  document  which  could  ever  have 
given  the  key  to  the  hidden  mystery.  This  happy  dis- 
covery brought  order  out  of  the  chaos  of  documents,  ab- 
stracts, and  references  so  painfully  accumulated,  which 
now  fell  together  like  the  pattern  in  a  kaleidoscope  or  the 
blocks  of  a  Chinese  puzzle. 

The  long  quest,  ended  at  last,  and  crowned  by  a  reward 
far  exceeding  the  most  sanguine  anticipations,  now  enables 
us  to  give  to  history,  in  one  of  the  clearest  and  most  per- 
fectly proven  pedigrees  that  it  has  ever  been  our  fortune 
to  construct,  the  full  lineage  of  the  Greatest  American. 

The  foregoing  "Introductory"  (with  notes)  and  the  following 
"Family  Tree"  are  from  The  Ancestry  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  by  J. 
Henry  Lea  and  J.  R.  Hutchinson.  (Boston  and  New  York,  1909: 
Houghton  Mifflin  Co.)  By  special  permission  of  the  copyright  own- 
ers, Mrs.  Ida  F.  Lea  and  Mr.  J.  R.  Hutchinson. 


[21] 


CHRONOLOGY  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


CHRONOLOGY 

1809 — Fehruary  12.  Abraham  Lincoln  was  born  on  the 
Big  South  Fork  of  Nolin  Creek,  in  Hardin,  now  La- 
Rue  County,  Kentucky. 

1816 — Removed  with  his  parents  to  Indiana,  settling  on 
Little  Pigeon  Creek,  near  Gentryville,  Spencer 
County. 

1818 — ITancy  Hanks  Lincoln,  his  mother,  died. 

1819 — His  father  married  Sarah  Bush  Johnston. 

1828 — Went  to  New  Orleans  on  a  flatboat. 

1830 — The  Lincolns  went  to  Hlinois,  settling  near  Deca- 
tur, Macon  County.  Abraham  split  the  historical 
rails. 

1831 — Went  to  New  Orleans  on  a  flatboat.  July.  Went 
to  New  Salem,  Sangamon  County.     Clerk  in  store. 

1832 — March.  Announced  himself  candidate  for  legis- 
lature. Captain  in  Black  Hawk  War.  July.  Mus- 
tered out.     August.     Defeated  for  election. 

1833 — Engaged  in  business  with  Berry.  Began  to  study 
law.  The  firm  of  Lincoln  &  Berry  failed.  May. 
Postmaster  of  New  Salem.  Deputy  surveyor  of  San- 
gamon County. 

1834 — Again  candidate  for  legislature,  and  elected. 

1835 — Was  at  Vandalia  as  member  of  legislature.     Met 

[25] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


Stephen  A.  Douglas.  Fell  in  love  with  Anne  Rut- 
ledge,  who  died.  Was  plunged  into  melancholia. 
Love  affair  with  Mary  Owens.  Re-elected  to  legisla- 
ture. Leader  of  "Lons;  Nine."  Worked  for  Inter- 
nal  Improvement  bubble,  and  succeeded  in  having 
State  capital  removed  to  Springfield.  Protested 
against  resolutions  condemning  abolitionism.  Ad- 
mitted to  the  bar. 

1837 — Settled  in  Springfield,  forming  partnership  with 
John  T.  Stuart. 

1838 — Re-elected  to  legislature.  Minority  candidate  for 
Speaker. 

1840 — Candidate  for  Presidential  elector  on  Whig  ticket. 
Stumped  the  State  for  Harrison.  Had  encounters 
with  Douglas.  Re-elected  to  legislature,  and  again 
minority  candidate  for  Speaker. 

1841 — He  and  Douglas  rivals  for  hand  of  Mary  Todd. 
Engagement  with  Mary  Todd  broken.  Ill  and  al- 
most deranged.  Visited  his  friend  Joshua  Speed 
in  Kentucky.  Challenged  to  a  duel  by  James  T. 
Shields.  April  14.  Formed  law  partnership  with 
Judge  Stephen  T.  Logan.  Refused  Whig  nomina- 
tion for  governor. 

1842 — November  4.     Married  to  Mary  Todd. 

1843 — Septemher  20.  Formed  law  partnership  with 
William  H.  Herndon. 

1844 — Candidate  for  Presidential  elector  on  Whig  ticket, 
and  stumped  Illinois  and  Indiana  for  Henry  Clay. 
[26] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


1846 — Elected  to  Thirtieth  Congress  over  Peter  Cart- 
wright. 

1847 — In  Congress.  Introduced  famous  "Spot"  Eesolu- 
tions. 

1848 — Presidential  elector  on  Whig  ticket,  and  stumped 
New  England  for  Taylor.  December.  Attended 
second  session  of  the  Thirtieth  Congress.  Voted 
for  Wilmot  Proviso  and  Ashmun's  amendment. 
Introduced  bill  abolishing  slavery  in  District  of  Co- 
lumbia. Sought  appointment  as  commissioner  of 
General  Lands  Office,  and  failed.  Declined  appoint- 
ment as  Territorial  Governor  of  Oregon.  Went  back 
to  Springfield  disappointed  and  disillusioned. 

1849 — Practised  law  on  old  Eighth  Judicial  Circuit  of 
Illinois. 

1852 — Campaigned  for  Scott. 

1854 — Roused  by  repeal  of  Missouri  Compromise  and  pas- 
sage of  Kansas-Nebraska  bill.  Attacked  Douglas's 
position.  November.  Elected  to  legislature  against 
his  will. 

1855 — January.  Resigned  from  legislature  to  become 
candidate  for  United  States  senator.  February. 
Defeated  for  United  States  senator. 

1856 — May  29.  Spoke  at  Bloomington  Convention, 
which  organised  the  Republican  party  in  Illinois. 
Received  110  votes  for  Vice-President  in  Republican 
Convention  at  Philadelphia.  Candidate  for  Presi- 
dential elector  on  Republican  ticket,  and  campaigned 
for  Fremont.     Attacked  Douglas's  position. 

[27] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


1858 — June  16.  Nominated  for  United  States  Senate 
by  Kepublicans  in  State  Convention.  July  24. 
Challenged  Douglas  to  joint  debate.  Great  debate 
with  Douglas.  Carried  Illinois  for  Republicans  on 
popular  vote,  but  lost  a  majority  of  the  legislative 
districts. 

1859 — January.  Defeated  for  Senate  by  Douglas  before 
legislature.  Spoke  that  fall  in  Ohio,  and  in  Decem- 
ber in  Kansas. 

1860 — February  27.  Delivered  notable  address  at  Coop- 
er Institute,  New  York.  Spoke  also  in  New  England. 
May  9.  Named  by  Illinois  Convention  at  Decatur 
as  "Rail"  candidate  for  President.  May  16.  Nom- 
inated for  President  by  Republicans  at  Chicago. 
November.     Elected. 

1861 — February  11.  Left  Springfield  for  Washington. 
March  4.  Inaugurated  as  President.  April  13. 
Fall  of  Fort  Sumter.  April  15.  Issued  call  for  vol- 
unteers, and  convened  Congress  in  extraordinary  ses- 
sion for  July  4.  July  21.  Battle  of  Bull  Run. 
July  25.  Appointed  McClellan  to  command  Army 
of  Potomac.  November  1.  Appointed  McClellan 
commander-in-chief,  under  the  President,  of  all 
armies.  December  3.  Message  to  Congress.  De- 
cember 25.  Ordered  the  return  of  Mason  and  Sli- 
dell,  captured  Commissioners  of  the  Confederacy,  and 
averted  war  with  England. 

1862 — January  13.  Appointed  Edwin  M.  Stanton  Secre- 
tary of  War.  Sent  special  message  to  Congress,  rec- 
[28] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ommending  gradual  compensated  emancipation  of 
slaves.  July  11.  Appointed  Halleck  general-in- 
chief.  September  22.  Issued  preliminary  proclama- 
tion of  emancipation  after  battle  of  Antietam.  De- 
cember. Message  to  Congress  again  urging  gradual 
compensated  emancipation.  Superseded  McClellan  in 
command  of  Army  of  the  Potomac  by  Burnside.  De- 
cember 13.     Burnside  defeated  at  Fredericksburg. 

1863 — January  1.  Issued  Emancipation  Proclamation. 
January  26.  Appointed  Hooker  to  succeed  Burn- 
side. May  2.  Hooker  lost  battle  of  Chancellors- 
ville.  June  27.  Appointed  Meade  to  succeed 
Hooker.  July  1-4.  Battle  of  Gettysburg.  July  4. 
Fall  of  Vicksburg.  September  19,  20.  Battle  of 
Chickamauga.  November  19.  Delivered  address  at 
dedication  of  the  ]!^ational  Cemetery  on  the  battle- 
field of  Gettysburg.  November  24,  25.  Grant  wori 
battles  of  Lookout  Mountain  and  Missionary  Ridga 
December  8.  Message  to  Congress  and  Proclamation 
of  Amnesty. 

1864 — March  3.  Commissioned  Grant  lieutenant-gen- 
eral and  placed  him  in  command  of  all  the  armies. 
June  7.  Renominated  for  President  by  Republican 
National  Convention  at  Baltimore.  August  23. 
Had  premonition  of  defeat.  November  8.  Re- 
elected. 

1865 — February  1.  Hampton  Roads  Peace  Conference 
with  Confederate  Commissioners.  March  4.  Inaug- 
urated as  President  a  second  time.     March  22.     Vis- 

[29] 


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ited  Grant  at  City  Point.  April  4.  Entered  Rich- 
mond. April  14.  Shot  in  Ford's  Theatre  at  10:20 
o'clock  in  the  evening.  April  15.  Died  at  7:22 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  May  4.  Buried  in  Spring- 
field. 


[30] 


I 


LINCOLN  PAPERS 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


"It  is  the  eternal  struggle  between  these  two  principles 
— right  and  wrong — throughout  the  world.  They  are  the 
two  principles  that  have  stood  face  to  face  from  the  begin- 
ning of  time,  and  will  ever  continue  to  struggle.  The  one 
is  the  common  right  of  humanity,  and  the  other  the  divine 
right  of  kings.  .  .  .  Whenever  the  issue  can  be  distinctly 
made  and  all  extraneous  matter  thrown  out,  so  that  men 
can  fairly  see  the  real  differences  between  the  parties,  this 
controversy  will  soon  be  settled,  and  it  will  be  done  peace- 
ably, too." 

The  above  is  an  extract  from  Lincoln's  last  speech  in  his  great 
engagements  with  Douglas,  Oct.  15,  1858. 


[33] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


"My  friends,  no  one,  not  in  my  situation,  can  appre- 
ciate my  feeling  of  sadness  at  this  parting.  To  this  place, 
and  the  kindness  of  these  people,  I  owe  everything.  Here 
I  have  lived  a  quarter  of  a  century  and  have  passed  from 
a  young  to  an  old  man.  Here  my  children  have  been 
born  and  one  is  buried.  I  now  leave,  not  knowing 
when  or  whether  ever  I  may  return,  with  a  task  before 
me  greater  than  that  which  rested  upon  Washington. 
Without  the  assistance  of  that  Divine  Being  who  ever  at- 
tended him,  I  cannot  succeed.  With  that  assistance,  I 
cannot  fail.  Trusting  to  Him  who  can  go  with  me,  and 
remain  with  you,  and  be  everywhere  for  good,  let  us  con- 
fidently hope  that  all  will  yet  be  well.  To  His  care  com- 
mending you,  as  I  hope  in  your  prayers  you  will  com- 
mend me,  I  bid  you  an  affectionate  farewell." 

On  February  11,  1861,  Lincoln  left  Springfield  for  Washington. 
His  old  friends  and  neighbours  went  down  to  the  railway  station 
to  see  him  off,  and  stood  patiently,  bareheaded  in  the  rain,  while, 
with  tears  streaming  down  his  dark  cheeks,  he  made  the  above  fare- 
well speech  from  the  platform  of  the  coach.  This  address  is  cut  in 
a  great  block  of  granite  forming  a  background  for  Andrew  O'Con- 
nor's statue  at  Springfield.     (See  facing  p.  206.) 


[34] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  FIRST  INAUGURAL  ADDRESS 

FELLOW-CITIZEKS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES: 
In  compliance  with  a  custom  as  old  as  the  Govern- 
ment itself,  I  appear  before  you  to  address  you  briefly,  and 
to  take  in  your  presence  the  oath  prescribed  by  the  Consti- 
tution of  the  United  States  to  be  taken  by  the  President 
"before  he  enters  on  the  execution  of  his  office." 

I  do  not  consider  it  necessary  at  present  for  me  to  dis- 
cuss those  matters  of  administration  about  which  there  is 
no  special  anxiety  or  excitement. 

Apprehension  seems  to  exist  among  the  people  of  the 
Southern  States  that  by  the  accession  of  a  Kepublican 
Administration  their  property  and  their  peace  and  per- 
sonal security  are  to  be  endangered.  There  has  never  been 
any  reasonable  cause  for  such  apprehension.  Indeed,  the 
most  ample  evidence  to  the  contrary  has  all  the  while  ex- 
isted and  been  open  to  their  inspection.  It  is  found  in 
nearly  all  the  public  speeches  of  him  who  now  addresses 
you.  I  do  but  quote  from  one  of  those  speeches  when  I 
declare  that  "I  have  no  purpose,  directly  or  indirectly,  to 
interfere  with  the  institution  of  slavery  in  the  States  where 
it  exists.  I  believe  I  have  no  lawful  right  to  do  so,  and 
I  have  no  inclination  to  do  so."  Those  who  nominated 
and  elected  me  did  so  with  full  knowledge  that  I  had  made 

[35] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


this  and  many  similar  declarations,  and  had  never  recanted 
them.  And,  more  than  this,  they  placed  in  the  platform 
for  my  acceptance,  and  as  a  law  to  themselves  and  to  me, 
the  clear  and  emphatic  resolution  which  I  now  read: 

"Resolved,  That  the  maintenance  inviolate  of  the  rights 
of  the  States,  and  especially  to  the  right  of  each  State  to 
order  and  control  its  own  domestic  institutions  according 
to  its  own  judgment  exclusively,  is  essential  to  that  bal- 
ance of  power  on  which  the  perfection  and  endurance  of 
our  political  fabric  depend,  and  we  denounce  the  lawless 
invasion  by  armed  force  of  the  soil  of  any  State  or  Ter- 
ritory, no  matter  under  what  pretext,  as  among  the  grav- 
est of  crimes." 

I  now  reiterate  these  sentiments;  and,  in  doing  so,  I 
only  press  upon  the  public  attention  the  most  conclusive 
evidence  of  which  the  case  is  susceptible,  that  the  property, 
peace  and  security  of  no  section  are  to  be  in  anywise  en- 
dangered by  the  now  incoming  Administration.  I  add, 
too,  that  all  the  protection  which,  consistently  with  the 
Constitution  and  the  laws,  can  be  given,  will  be  cheerfully 
given  to  all  the  States  when  lawfully  demanded,  for 
whatever  cause — as  cheerfully  to  one  section  as  to  an- 
other. 

There  is  much  controversy  about  the  delivering  up  of 
fugitives  from  service  or  labour.  The  clause  I  now  read 
is  as  plainly  written  in  the  Constitution  as  any  other  of 
its  provisions: 

"No  person  held  to  service  or  labour  in  one  State,  un- 
der the  laws  thereof,  escaping  into  another,  shall  in  conse- 
[36] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


quence  of  any  law  or  regulation  therein  be  discharged  from 
such  service  or  labour,  but  shall  be  delivered  up  on  claim 
of  the  party  to  whom  such  sei-vice  or  labour  may  be  due." 

It  is  scarcely  questioned  that  this  provision  was  intended 
by  those  who  made  it  for  the  reclaiming  of  what  we  call 
fugitive  slaves;  and  the  intention  of  the  lawgiver  is  the 
law.  All  members  of  Congress  swear  their  support  to 
the  whole  Constitution — to  this  provision  as  to  any  other. 
To  the  proposition,  then,  that  slaves,  whose  cases  come 
within  the  terms  of  this  clause,  "shall  be  delivered  up" 
their  oaths  are  unanimous.  Now,  if  they  would  make  the 
effort  in  good  temper,  could  they  not,  with  nearly  equal 
unanimity,  frame  and  pass  a  law  by  means  of  which  to 
keep  good  that  unanimous  oath  ? 

There  is  some  difference  of  opinion  whether  this  clause 
should  be  enforced  by  national  or  by  State  authority ;  but 
surely  that  difference  is  not  a  very  material  one.  If  the 
slave  is  to  be  surrendered,  it  can  be  of  but  little  conse- 
quence to  him,  or  to  others,  by  which  authority  it  is  done. 
And  should  any  one,  in  any  case,  be  content  that  his  oath 
shall  go  unkept,  on  a  merely  unsubstantial  controversy  as 
to  how  it  shall  be  kept  ? 

Again,  in  any  law  upon  this  subject,  ought  not  all  the 
safeguards  of  liberty  known  in  civilised  and  humane  juris- 
prudence to  be  introduced  so  that  a  free  man  be  not,  in  any 
case,  surrendered  as  a  slave  ?  And  might  it  not  be  well  at 
the  same  time  to  provide  by  law  for  the  enforcement  of 
that  clause  in  the  Constitution  which  guarantees  that  "the 

[37] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


citizen  of  each  State  shall  be  entitled  to  all  privileges  and 
immunities  of  citizens  in  the  several  States"  ? 

I  take  the  ofBcial  oath  to-day  with  no  mental  reserva- 
tions and  with  no  purpose  to  construe  the  Constitution  or 
laws  by  any  hypercritical  rules.  And  while  I  do  not 
choose  now  to  specify  particular  acts  of  Congress  as  proper 
to  be  enforced,  I  do  suggest  that  it  will  be  much  safer  for 
all,  both  in  official  and  private  stations,  to  conform  to  and 
abide  by  all  those  acts  which  stand  unrepealed,  than  to 
violate  any  of  them  trusting  to  find  impunity  in  having 
them  held  unconstitutional. 

It  is  seventy-two  years  since  the  first  inauguration  of 
a  President  under  our  National  Constitution.  During  that 
period  fifteen  different  and  greatly  distinguished  citizens 
have,  in  succession,  administered  the  Executive  branch  of 
the  Government.  They  have  conducted  it  through  many 
perils,  and  generally  with  great  success.  Yet,  with  all  this 
scope  of  precedent,  I  now  enter  upon  the  same  task  for  the 
brief  constitutional  term  of  four  years,  under  great  and 
peculiar  difficulty.  A  disruption  of  the  Federal  Union, 
heretofore  only  menaced,  is  now  formidably  attempted. 

I  hold  that,  in  contemplation  of  universal  law  and  of 
the  Constitution,  the  union  of  these  States  is  perpetual. 
Perpetuity  is  implied,  if  not  expressed,  in  the  fundamental 
law  of  all  national  governments.  It  is  safe  to  assert  that 
no  government  proper  ever  had  a  provision  in  its  organic 
law  for  its  own  termination.  Continue  to  execute  all  the 
express  provisions  of  our  ISTational  Constitution,  and  the 
Union  will  endure  forever — it  being  impossible  to  destroy 
[38] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


it  except  by  some  action  not  provided  for  in  the  instru- 
ment itself. 

Again,  if  the  United  States  be  not  a  government  proper, 
but  an  association  of  States  in  the  nature  of  contract 
merely,  can  it,  as  a  contract,  be  peaceably  unmade  by  less 
than  all  the  parties  who  made  it  ?  One  party  to  a  contract 
may  violate  it — break  it,  so  to  speak,  but  does  it  not  require 
all  to  lawfully  rescind  it  ? 

Descending  from  these  general  principles,  we  find  the 
proposition  that,  in  legal  contemplation,  the  Union  is  per- 
petual, confirmed  by  the  history  of  the  Union  itself.  The 
Union  is  much  older  than  the  Constitution.  It  was 
formed,  in  fact,  by  the  Articles  of  Association  in  1774. 
It  was  matured  and  continued  by  the  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence in  1776.  It  was  further  matured,  and  the 
faith  of  all  the  then  thirteen  States  expressly  plighted 
and  engaged  that  it  should  be  perpetual,  by  the  Articles 
of  Confederation  in  1778.  And,  finally,  in  1787,  one 
of  the  declared  objects  for  ordaining  and  establishing  the 
Constitution  was  "to  form  a  more  perfect  Union." 

But  if  destruction  of  the  Union  by  one,  or  by  a  part 
only,  of  the  States  be  lawfully  possible,  the  Union  is  less 
perfect  than  before  the  Constitution,  having  lost  the  vital 
element  of  perpetuity. 

It  follows  from  these  views  that  no  State,  upon  its  own 
mere  motion,  can  lawfully  get  out  of  the  Union;  that 
resolves  and  ordinances  to  that  effect  are  legally  void ;  and 
that  acts  of  violence,  within  any  State  or  States,  against 

[39] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


the  authority  of  the  United  States,  are  insurrectionary  or 
revolutionary,   according  to  circumstances. 

I  therefore  consider  that,  in  view  of  the  Constitution 
and  the  laws,  the  Union  is  unbroken;  and  to  the  extent 
of  my  ability  I  shall  take  care,  as  the  Constitution  itself 
expressly  enjoins  upon  me,  that  the  laws  of  the  Union 
be  faithfully  executed  in  all  the  States.  Doing  this  I 
deem  to  be  only  a  simple  duty  on  my  part;  and  I  shall 
perform  it,  so  far  as  practicable,  unless  my  right- 
ful masters,  the  American  people,  shall  withhold  the  req- 
uisite means,  or  in  some  authoritative  manner  direct  the 
contrary.  I  trust  this  will  not  be  regarded  as  a  menace, 
but  only  as  the  declared  purpose  of  the  Union  that  it  will 
constitutionally  defend  and  maintain  itself. 

In  doing  this  there  needs  to  be  no  bloodshed  or  vio- 
lence; and  there  shall  be  none,  unless  it  be  forced  upon 
the  national  authority.  The  power  confided  to  me  will 
be  used  to  hold,  occupy,  and  possess  the  property  and 
places  belonging  to  the  government,  and  to  collect  the 
duties  and  imports;  but  beyond  what  may  be  necessary 
for  these  objects,  there  will  be  no  invasion,  no  using  of 
force  against  or  among  the  people  anywhere.  Where  hos- 
tility to  the  United  States,  in  any  interior  locality,  shall 
be  so  great  and  universal  as  to  prevent  competent  resident 
citizens  from  holding  the  Federal  offices,  there  will  be  no 
attempt  to  force  obnoxious  strangers  among  the  people 
for  that  object.  While  the  strict  legal  right  may  exist 
in  the  government  to  enforce  the  exercise  of  these  offices, 
the  attempt  to  do  so  would  be  so  irritating,  and  so  nearly 
[40] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


impracticable  withal,  that  I  deem  it  better  to  forego  for 
the  time  the  uses  of  such  offices. 

The  mails,  unless  repelled,  will  continue  to  be  furnished 
in  all  parts  of  the  Union.  So  far  as  possible,  the  people 
everywhere  shall  have  that  sense  of  perfect  security  which 
is  most  favourable  to  calm  thought  and  reflection.  The 
course  here  indicated  will  be  followed  unless  current 
events  and  experience  shall  show  a  modification  or  change 
to  be  proper,  and  in  every  case  and  exigency  my  best  dis- 
cretion will  be  exercised  according  to  circumstances  ac- 
tually existing,  and  with  a  view  and  a  hope  of  a  peaceful 
solution  of  the  national  troubles,  and  the  restoration  of  fra- 
ternal sympathies  and  affections. 

That  there  are  persons  in  one  section  or  another  who 
seek  to  destroy  the  Union  at  all  events,  and  are  glad  of 
any  pretext  to  do  it,  I  will  neither  affirm  nor  deny;  but 
if  there  be  such,  I  need  address  no  word  to  them.  To 
those,  however,  who  really  love  the  Union,  may  I  not 
speak  ? 

Before  entering  upon  so  gi-ave  a  matter  as  the  destruc- 
tion of  our  national  fabric,  with  all  its  benefits,  its  mem- 
ories, and  its  hopes,  would  it  not  be  wise  to  ascertain 
precisely  why  we  do  it?  Will  you  hazard  so  desperate 
a  step  while  there  is  any  possibility  that  any  portion  of 
the  ills  you  fly  from  have  no  real  existence?  Will  you, 
while  the  certain  ills  you  fly  to  are  greater  than  all  the 
real  ones  you  fly  from — will  you  risk  the  commission  of  so 
fearful  a  mistake? 

All  profess  to  be  content  in  the  Union,  if  all  constitu- 

[41] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


tional  rights  can  be  maintained.  Is  it  true,  then,  that  any 
right,  plainly  written  in  the  Constitution,  has  been  denied  ? 
I  think  not.  Happily  the  human  mind  is  so  constituted 
that  no  party  can  reach  to  the  audacity  of  doing  this. 
Think,  if  you  can,  of  a  single  instance  in  which  a  plainly 
written  provision  of  the  Constitution  has  ever  been  denied. 
If  by  the  mere  force  of  numbers  a  majority  should  de- 
prive a  minority  of  any  clearly  written  constitutional 
right,  it  might,  in  a  moral  point  of  view,  justify  revolu- 
tion— certainly  would,  if  such  right  were  a  vital  one. 
But  such  is  not  our  case.  All  the  vital  rights  of  minori- 
ties and  of  individuals  are  so  plainly  assured  to  them  by 
affirmations  and  negations,  guarantees  and  prohibitions,  in 
the  Constitution,  that  controversies  never  arise  concerning 
them.  But  no  organic  law  can  ever  be  framed  with  a 
provision  specifically  applicable  to  every  question  which 
may  occur  in  practical  administration.  I^o  foresight  can 
anticipate,  nor  any  document  of  reasonable  length  contain, 
express  provisions  for  all  possible  questions.  Shall  fugi- 
tives from  labour  be  surrendered  by  national  or  State  au- 
thority ?  The  Constitution  does  not  expressly  say.  May 
Congress  prohibit  slavery  in  the  Territories?  The  Con- 
stitution does  not  expressly  say.  Must  Congress  protect 
slavery  in  the  Territories?  The  Constitution  does  not 
expressly  say. 

From  questions  of  this  class  spring  all  our  constitutional 

controversies,  and  we  divide  upon  them  into  majorities 

and  minorities.     If  the  minority  will  not  acquiesce,  the 

majority  must,   or  the  government  must  cease.      There 

[42] 


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is  no  other  alternative,  for  continuing  the  government  is 
acquiescence  on  one  side  or  the  other. 

If  a  minority  in  such  case  will  secede  rather  than  ac- 
quiesce, they  make  a  precedent  which  in  turn  will  divide 
and  ruin  them;  for  a  minority  of  their  own  will  secede 
from  them  whenever  a  majority  refuses  to  be  controlled 
by  such  minority.  For  instance,  why  may  not  any  por- 
tion of  a  new  confederacy,  a  year  or  two  hence,  arbitrarily 
secede  again,  precisely  as  portions  of  the  present  Union 
now  claim  to  secede  from  it?  All  who  cherish  disunion 
sentiments  are  now  being  educated  to  the  exact  temper 
of  doing  this. 

Is  there  such  perfect  identity  of  interests  among  the 
States  to  compose  a  new  Union  as  to  produce  harmony 
only,  and  prevent  renewed  secession  ? 

Plainly,  the  central  idea  of  secession  is  the  essence  of 
anarchy,  A  majority  held  in  restraint  by  constitutional 
checks  and  limitations,  and  always  changing  easily  with 
deliberate  changes  of  popular  opinions  and  sentiments,  is 
the  only  true  sovereig-n  of  a  free  people.  Whoever  re- 
jects it  does,  of  necessity,  fly  to  anarchy  or  to  despotism. 
Unanimity  is  impossible;  the  rule  of  a  minority,  as  a  per- 
manent arrangement,  is  wholly  inadmissible;  so  that,  re- 
jecting the  majority  principle,  anarchy  or  despotism  in 
some  form  is  all  that  is  left. 

I  do  not  forget  the  position,  assumed  by  some,  that 
constitutional  questions  are  to  be  decided  by  the  Supreme 
Court ;  nor  do  I  deny  that  such  decisions  must  be  binding, 
in  any  case,  upon  the  parties  to  a  suit,  as  to  the  object 

[43] 


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of  that  suit,  while  they  are  also  entitled  to  very  high  re- 
spect and  consideration  in  all  parallel  cases  by  all  other 
departments  of  the  government.  And  while  it  is  ob- 
viously possible  that  such  decision  may  be  erroneous  in 
any  given  case,  still  the  evil  effect  following  it,  being  lim- 
ited to  that  particular  case,  with  the  chance  that  it  may 
be  overruled,  and  never  become  a  precedent  for  other 
cases,  can  better  be  borne  than  could  the  evils  of  a  differ- 
ent practice.  At  the  same  time,  the  candid  citizen  must 
confess  that  if  the  policy  of  the  government,  upon  vital 
questions,  affecting  the  whole  people,  is  to  be  irrevocably 
fixed  by  decisions  of  the  Supreme  Court,  the  instant  they 
are  made,  in  ordinary  litigation  between  parties  in  per- 
sonal actions,  the  people  will  have  ceased  to  be  their  own 
rulers,  having  to  that  extent  practically  resigned  their  gov- 
ernment into  the  hands  of  that  eminent  tribunal.  Nor  is 
there  in  this  view  any  assault  upon  the  court  or  the  judges. 
It  is  a  duty  from  which  they  may  not  shrink  to  decide 
cases  properly  brought  before  them,  and  it  is  no  fault  of 
theirs  if  others  seek  to  turn  their  decisions  to  political 
purposes. 

One  section  of  our  country  believes  slavery  is  right,  and 
ought  to  be  extended,  while  the  other  believes  it  is  wrong, 
and  ought  not  to  be  extended.  This  is  the  only  substan- 
tial dispute.  The  fugitive-slave  clause  of  the  Constitu- 
tion, and  the  law  for  the  suppression  of  the  foreign  slave 
trade,  are  each  as  well  enforced,  perhaps,  as  any  law  can 
ever  be  in  a  community  where  the  moral  sense  of  the  peo- 
ple imperfectly  supports  the  law  itself.  The  great  body 
[44] 


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of  the  people  abide  by  the  dry  legal  obligation  in  both 
cases,  and  a  few  break  over  in  each.  This,  I  think,  can- 
not be  perfectly  cured ;  and  it  would  be  worse  in  both  cases 
after  the  separation  of  the  sections  than  before.  The  for- 
eign slave  trade,  now  imperfectly  suppressed,  would  be  ul- 
timately revived  without  restriction  in  one  section,  while 
fugitive  slaves,  now  only  partially  surrendered,  would  not 
be  surrendered  at  all  by  the  other. 

Physically  speaking,  we  cannot  separate.  We  cannot  re- 
move our  respective  sections  from  each  other,  nor  build 
an  impassable  wall  between  them.  A  husband  and  wife 
may  be  divorced,  and  go  out  of  the  presence  and  beyond  the 
reach  of  each  other ;  but  the  different  parts  of  our  country 
cannot  do  this.  They  cannot  but  remain  face  to  face,  and 
intercourse,  either  amicable  or  hostile,  must  continue  be- 
tween them.  Is  it  possible,  then,  to  make  tliat  intercourse 
more  advantageous  or  more  satisfactory  after  separation 
than  before?  Can  aliens  make  treaties  easier  than  friends 
can  make  laws  ?  Can  treaties  be  more  faithfully  enforced 
between  aliens  than  laws  can  among  friends?  Suppose 
you  go  to  war,  you  cannot  fight  always;  and  when,  after 
much  loss  on  both  sides,  and  no  gain  on  either,  you  cease 
fighting,  the  identical  old  questions  as  to  terms  of  inter- 
course are  again  upon  you. 

This  country,  with  its  institutions,  belongs  to  the  people 
who  inhabit  it.  Whenever  they  shall  grow  weary  of  the 
existing  government  they  can  exercise  their  constitutional 
right  of  amending  it,  or  their  revolutionary  right  to  dis- 
member or  overthrow  it.     I  cannot  be  ignorant  of  the  fact 

[45] 


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that  many  worthy  and  patriotic  citizens  are  desirous  of 
having  the  National  Constitution  amended.  While  I  make 
no  recommendation  of  amendments,  I  fully  recognise  the 
rightful  authority  of  the  people  over  the  whole  subject,  to 
be  exercised  in  either  of  the  modes  prescribed  in  the  in- 
strument itself;  and  I  should,  under  existing  circum- 
stances, favour  rather  than  oppose  a  fair  opportunity  being 
offered  the  people  to  act  upon  it.  I  will  venture  to  add 
that  to  me  the  convention  mode  seems  preferable,  in  that  it 
allows  amendments  to  originate  with  the  people  themselves, 
instead  of  only  permitting  them  to  take  or  reject  proposi- 
tions originated  by  others,  not  especially  chosen  for  the 
purpose,  and  which  might  not  be  precisely  such  as  they 
would  wish  to  either  accept  or  refuse.  I  understand  a  pro- 
posed amendment  to  the  Constitution — which  amendment, 
however,  I  have  not  seen — has  passed  Congress,  to 'the  ef- 
fect that  the  Federal  Government  shall  never  interfere  with 
the  domestic  institutions  of  the  States,  including  that  of 
persons  held  to  service.  To  avoid  misconstruction  of  what 
I  have  said,  I  depart  from  my  purpose,  not  to  speak  of 
particular  amendments,  so  far  as  to  say  that,  holding  such 
a  provision  to  now  be  implied  constitutional  law,  I  have  no 
objection  to  its  being  made  express  and  irrevocable. 

The  Chief  Magistrate  derives  all  his  authority  from  the 
people,  and  they  have  conferred  none  upon  him  to  fix 
terms  for  the  separation  of  the  States.  The  people  them- 
selves can  do  this  also  if  they  choose;  but  the  Executive, 
as  such,  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  His  duty  is  to  admin- 
[46] 


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ister  the  present  government,  as  it  came  to  his  hands,  and 
to  transmit  it,  unimpaired  by  him,  to  his  successor. 

Why  should  there  not  be  a  patient  confidence  in  the  ulti- 
mate justice  of  the  people  ?  Is  there  any  better  or  equal 
hope  in  the  world?  In  our  present  differences  is  either 
party  without  faith  of  being  in  the  right?  If  the  Al- 
mighty Ruler  of  Nations,  with  His  eternal  truth  and  jus- 
tice, be  on  your  side  of  the  North,  or  on  yours  of  the 
South,  that  truth  and  that  justice  will  surely  prevail  by 
the  judgment  of  this  great  tribunal  of  the  American  people. 

By  the  frame  of  the  government  under  which  we  live, 
this  same  people  have  wisely  given  their  public  servants 
but  little  power  for  mischief ;  and  have,  with  equal  wisdom, 
provided  for  the  return  of  that  little  to  their  own  hands 
at  very  short  intervals.  While  the  people  retain  their 
virtue  and  vigilance,  no  administration,  by  any  extreme 
of  wickedness  or  folly,  can  very  seriously  injure  the  gov- 
ernment in  the  space  of  four  years. 

My  countrymen,  one  and  all,  think  calmly  and  well  upon 
this  whole  subject.  Nothing  valuable  can  be  lost  by  tak- 
ing time.  If  there  be  an  object  to  hurry  any  of  you,  in 
hot  haste,  to  a  step  which  you  would  never  take  deliber- 
ately, that  object  will  be  frustrated  by  taking  time;  but 
no  good  object  can  be  frustrated  by  it.  Such  of  you  as 
are  now  dissatisfied,  still  have  the  old  Constitution  unim- 
paired, and,  on  the  sensitive  point,  the  laws  of  your  own 
framing  under  it ;  while  the  new  administration  will  have 
no  immediate  power,  if  it  would,  to  change  either.  If  it 
were  admitted  that  you  who  are  dissatisfied  hold  the  right 

[47] 


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side  in  the  dispute,  there  still  is  no  single  good  reason  for 
precipitate  action.  Intelligence,  patriotism,  Christianity, 
and  a  firm  reliance  on  Him  who  has  never  yet  forsaken 
this  favoured  land  are  still  competent  to  adjust,  in  the 
best  way,  all  our  present  difficulty. 

In  your  hands,  my  dissatisfied  fellow-countrymen,  and 
not  in  mine,  is  the  momentous  issue  of  civil  war.  The 
government  will  not  assail  you.  You  can  have  no  conflict 
without  being  yourselves  the  aggressors.  You  have  no 
oath  registered  in  heaven  to  destroy  the  government, 
while  /  shall  have  the  most  solemn  one  to  "preserve,  pro- 
tect, and  defend  it." 

I  am  loath  to  close.  We  are  not  enemies,  but  friends. 
We  must  not  be  enemies.  Though  passion  may  have 
strained,  it  must  not  break  our  bonds  of  affection.  The 
mystic  chords  of  memory,  stretching  from  every  battle- 
field, and  patriot  grave,  to  every  living  heart  and  hearth- 
stone, all  over  this  broad  land,  will  yet  swell  the  chorus 
of  the  Union,  when  again  touched,  as  surely  they  will  be, 
by  the  better  angels  of  our  nature. 

Abeaham  Lincoln. 

March  k,  1861. 


[48], 


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"The  will  of  God  prevails.  In  great  contests  each  party 
claims  to  act  in  accordance  with  the  will  of  God.  Both 
may  be  and  one  must  be  wrong.  God  cannot  be  for  and 
against  the  same  thing  at  the  same  time.  In  the  present 
civil  war  it  is  quite  possible  that  God's  purpose  is  some- 
thing different  from  the  purpose  of  either  party;  and  yet 
the  human  instrumentalities,  working  just  as  they  do,  are 
ready  to  say  that  this  is  probably  true;  that  God  wills 
this  contest,  and  wills  that  it  shall  not  end  yet.  By  His 
mere  great  power  on  the  minds  of  the  now  contestants,  He 
could  have  either  saved  or  destroyed  the  Union  without  a 
human  contest.  Yet  the  contest  began.  And  having  be- 
gun. He  could  give  the  final  victory  to  either  side  any 
day.    Yet  the  contest  proceeds." 

Of  the  above  meditation,  from  the  Nicolay-Hay  History  of  Abra- 
ham Lincoln,  the  authors  say:  "It  is  a  paper  which  Mr.  Lincoln 
wrote  in  September,  1862,  while  his  mind  was  burdened  with  the 
weightiest  question  of  his  life,  the  weightiest  with  which  this  cen- 
tury has  had  to  grapple.  Wearied  with  all  the  considerations  of 
law  and  of  expediency  with  which  he  had  been  struggling  for  two 
years,  he  retired  within  himself  and  tried  to  bring  some  order  into 
his  thoughts  by  rising  above  the  wrangling  of  men  and  of  parties, 
and  pondering  the  relations  of  human  government  to  the  Divine. 
In  this  frame  of  mind,  absolutely  detached  from  any  earthly  con- 
siderations, he  wrote  this  meditation.  It  has  never  been  published. 
It  was  not  written  to  be  seen  of  men.  It  was  penned  in  the  awful 
sincerity  of  a  perfectly  honest  soul  trying  to  bring  itself  into  closer 
communion  with  its  Maker." 

[49] 


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A  LINCOLN  ORDER 

THE  President,  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army  and 
Navy,  desires  and  enjoins  the  orderly  observance  of 
the  Sabbath  by  the  officers  and  men  in  the  military  and 
naval  service.  The  importance  for  man  and  beast  of  the 
prescribed  weekly  rest,  the  sacred  rights  of  Christian  sol- 
diers and  sailors,  a  becoming  deference  to  the  best  senti- 
ment of  a  Christian  people,  and  a  due  regard  for  the  Di- 
vine will,  demand  that  Sunday  labour  in  the  Army  and 
ISTavy  be  reduced  to  the  measure  of  strict  necessity.  The 
discipline  and  character  of  the  national  forces  should  not 
suffer,  nor  the  cause  they  defend  be  imperilled,  by  the  prof- 
anation of  the  day  or  name  of  the  Most  High.  "At  this 
time  of  public  distress" — adopting  the  words  of  Washing- 
ton in  1776 — "men  may  find  enough  to  do  in  the  service 
of  God  and  their  country  without  abandoning  themselves 
to  vice  and  immorality."  The  first  General  Order  issued 
by  the  Father  of  his  Country  after  the  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence indicates  the  spirit  in  which  our  institutions 
were  founded  and  should  ever  be  defended.  "The  General 
hopes  and  trusts  that  every  officer  and  man  will  endeavour 
to  live  and  act  as  becomes  a  Christian  soldier,  defending 
the  dearest  rights  and  liberties  of  his  country." 

November  16,  1862. 
[50] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BY  THE  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES 
OF  AMERICA:  A  PROCLAMATION 

WHEREAS,  on  the  twenty-second  day  of  Septem- 
ber, in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  sixty-two,  a  proclamation  was  issued  by  the 
President  of  the  United  States,  containing,  among  other 
things,  the  following,  to  wit: 

"That  on  the  first  day  of  January,  in  the  year  of 
"our  Lord  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  sixty- 
"three,  all  persons  held  as  slaves  within  any  State  or 
"designated  part  of  a  State,  the  people  whereof  shall 
"then  be  in  rebellion  against  the  United  States,  shall 
"be  then,  thenceforward,  and  forever  free;  and  the 
"Executive  Government  of  the  United  States,  includ- 
"ing  the  military  and  naval  authority  thereof,  will 
"recognise  and  maintain  the  freedom  of  such  persons, 
"and  will  do  no  act  or  acts  to  repress  such  persons, 
"or  any  of  them,  in  any  efforts  they  may  make  for 
"their  actual  freedom. 

"That  the  Executive  will,  on  the  first  day  of  Jan- 
"uary  aforesaid,  by  proclamation,  designate  the 
"States  and  parts  of  States,  if  any,  in  which  the  peo- 
"ple  thereof,  respectively,  shall  then  be  in  rebellion 
"against  the  United  States;  and  the  fact  that  any 

[51] 


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"State,  or  the  people  thereof,  shall  on  that  day  be, 
"in  good  faith,  represented  in  the  Congress  of  the 
"United  States  by  members  chosen  thereto  at  elec- 
"tions  wherein  a  majority  of  the  qualified  voters  of 
"such  State  shall  have  participated,  shall,  in  the  ab- 
"sence  of  strong  countervailing  testimony,  be  deemed 
"conclusive  evidence  that  such  State,  and  the  people 
"thereof,  are  not  then  in  rebellion  against  the  United 
"States." 

Now,  therefore,  I,  Abraham  Lincoln,  President  of  the 
United  States,  by  virtue  of  the  power  in  me  vested,  as 
Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army  and  Navy  of  the  United 
States  in  time  of  actual  armed  rebellion  against  the  author- 
ity and  government  of  the  United  States,  and  as  a  fit  and 
necessary  war  measure  for  suppressing  said  rebellion,  do, 
on  this  first  day  of  January,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one 
thousand  eight  hundred  and  sixty-three,  and  in  accordance 
with  my  purpose  so  to  do,  publicly  proclaimed  for  the  full 
period  of  one  hundred  days,  from  the  day  first  above  men- 
tioned, order  and  designate  as  the  States  and  parts  of 
States  in  which  the  people  thereof,  respectively,  are  this 
day  in  rebellion  against  the  United  States,  the  following, 
to  wit:  Arkansas,  Texas,  Louisiana  (except  the  Parishes 
of  St.  Bernard,  Plaquemines,  Jefferson,  St.  Johns,  St. 
Charles,  St.  James,  Ascension,  Assumption,  Terrebonne, 
Lafourche,  St.  Mary,  St.  Martin,  and  Orleans,  including 
the  City  of  New  Orleans),  Mississippi,  Alabama,  Florida, 
Georgia,  South  Carolina,  North  Carolina,  and  Virginia 
[52] 


THE   FIRST  READIXG   OF  THE   EMANCIPATION    PROCLAMATION, 
FROM    PAINTING    BY    FRANCIS    BICKNEI.I,    CARPENTER 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


(except  the  forty-eight  counties  designated  as  West  Vir- 
ginia, and  also  the  counties  of  Berkeley,  Accomac,  North- 
ampton, Elizabeth  City,  York,  Princess  Ann,  and  Nor- 
folk, including  the  cities  of  Norfolk  and  Portsmouth),  and 
which  excepted  parts  are,  for  the  present,  left  precisely  as 
if  this  proclamation  were  not  issued. 

And  by  virtue  of  the  power,  and  for  the  purpose  afore- 
said, I  do  order  and  declare  that  all  persons  held  as  slaves 
within  said  designated  States,  and  parts  of  States,  are, 
and  henceforward  shall  be,  free;  and  that  the  Executive 
Government  of  the  United  States,  including  the  military 
and  naval  authorities  thereof,  will  recognise  and  maintain 
the  freedom  of  said  persons. 

And  I  hereby  enjoin  upon  the  people  so  declared  to  be 
free  to  abstain  from  all  violence,  unless  in  necessary  self- 
defence  ;  and  I  recommend  to  them  that  in  all  cases  when 
allowed  they  labour  faithfully  for  reasonable  wages. 

And  I  further  declare  and  make  known,  that  such  per- 
sons of  suitable  condition  will  be  received  into  the  armed 
service  of  the  United  States  to  garrison  forts,  positions, 
stations  and  other  places,  and  to  man  vessels  of  all  sorts 
in  said  service. 

And  upon  this  act,  sincerely  believed  to  be  an  act  of 
justice,  warranted  by  the  Constitution,  upon  military  ne- 
cessity, I  invoke  the  considerate  judgment  of  mankind,  and 
the  gracious  favour  of  Almighty  God. 

In  witness  whereof,  I  have  hereunto  set  my  hand  and 
caused  the  seal  of  the  United  States  to  be  affixed. 

Done  at  the  city  of  Washington,  this  first  day  of  Jan- 

[53] 


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uary,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  eight  hundred 
and  sixty-three,  and  of  the  Independence  of  the  United 
States  of  America  the  eighty-seventh. 

Abkaham  Lincoln. 
By  the  President : 
William  H.  Sewakd, 
Secretary  of  State. 


[54] 


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ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT  THE   DEDICATION  OF 
THE  CEMETERY  AT  GETTYSBURG 

FOITR  score  and  seven  years  ago  our  fathers  brought 
forth  on  this  continent  a  new  nation,  conceived  in 
Liberty,  and  dedicated  to  the  proposition  that  all  men  are 
created  equal. 

Now  we  are  engaged  in  a  great  civil  war,  testing  whether 
that  nation,  or  any  nation,  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated, 
can  long  endure.  We  are  met  on  a  great  battle-field  of  that 
war.  We  have  come  to  dedicate  a  portion  of  that  field 
as  a  final  resting-place  for  those  who  here  gave  their  lives 
that  that  nation  might  live.  It  is  altogether  fitting  and 
proper  that  we  should  do  this. 

But,  in  a  larger  sense,  we  cannot  dedicate — we  cannot 
consecrate — we  cannot  hallow — this  ground.  The  brave 
men,  living  and  dead,  who  struggled  here,  have  conse- 
crated it  far  above  our  poor  power  to  add  or  detract.  The 
world  will  little  note  nor  long  remember  what  we  say  here, 
but  it  can  never  forget  what  they  did  here.  It  is  ■'^^r  us, 
the  living,  rather,  to  be  dedicated  here  to  the  un  aished 
work  which  they  who  fought  here  have  thus  far  so  nobly 
advanced.  It  is  rather  for  us  to  be  here  dedicated  to  the 
great  task  remaining  before  us — that  from  these  honoured 
dead  we  take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for  which 

[55] 


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they  gave  the  last  full  measure  of  devotion ;  that  we  here 
highly  resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in  vain ; 
that  this  nation,  under  God,  shall  have  a  new  birth  of  free- 
dom ;  and  that  government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for 
the  people,  shall  not  perish  from  the  earth. 

Abraham  Lincoln. 
November  19,  1863. 


This  speech  is  inscribed  upon  a  large  slab  of  granite  before  which 
stands  the  bronze  statue  by  Daniel  Chester  French.     (See  p.  125.) 


[56] 


I 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


A  LINCOLN  LETTER 

"Deak  Johnston: 

''Your  request  for  eighty  dollars  I  do  not  think  it  best 
to  comply  with  now.  At  the  various  times  when  I  have 
helped  you  a  little  you  have  said  to  me,  'We  can  get  along 
very  well  now/  but  in  a  very  short  time  I  find  you  in  the 
same  difficulty  again.  Now  this  can  only  happen  by  some 
defect  in  your  conduct.  What  that  defect  is,  I  think  I 
know.  You  are  not  lazy,  and  still  you  are  an  idler.  I 
doubt  whether,  since  I  saw  you,  you  have  done  a  good 
whole  day's  work  in  any  one  day.  You  do  not  very  much 
dislike  to  work,  and  still  you  do  not  work  much,  merely 
because  it  does  not  seem  to  you  that  you  could  get  much 
for  it.  This  habit  of  uselessly  wasting  time  is  the  whole 
difficulty;  it  is  vastly  important  to  you,  and  still  more 
so  to  your  children,  that  you  should  break  the  habit.  It 
is  more  important  to  them  because  they  have  longer  to 
live,  and  can  keep  out  of  an  idle  habit,  before  they  are  in 
it,  easier  than  they  can  get  out  after  they  are  in. 

"You  are  in  need  of  some  ready  money,  and  what  I  pro- 
pose is  that  you  shall  go  to  work  'tooth  and  nail'  for  some- 
body who  will  give  you  money  for  it.  Let  father  and  your 
boys  take  charge  of  things  at  home,  prepare  for  a  crop,  and 
make  the  crop,  and  you  go  to  work  for  the  best  money 
wages,  or  in  discharge  of  any  debt  you  owe,  that  you  can 
get, — and  to  secure  you  a  fair  reward  for  your  labour,  I 
now  promise  vou  that  for  every  dollar  you  will,  between 

[57] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


this  and  the  first  of  next  May,  get  for  your  own  labour, 
either  in  money  or  as  your  own  indebtedness,  I  will  give 
you  one  other  dollar.  By  this,  if  you  hire  yourself  at  ten 
dollars  a  month,  from  me  you  will  get  ten  more,  making 
twenty  dollars  for  your  work.  In  this  I  do  not  mean  you 
shall  go  off  to  St.  Louis,  or  the  lead  mines,  or  the  gold 
mines  in  California,  but  I  mean  for  you  to  go  at  it  for  the 
best  wages  you  can  get  close  to  home  in  Coles  County. 
Now  if  you  will  do  this,  you  will  be  soon  out  of  debt,  and, 
what  is  better,  you  will  have  a  habit  that  will  keep  you 
from  getting  in  debt  again.  But  if  I  should  now  clear  you 
out,  next  year  you  would  be  just  as  deep  in  as  ever.  You 
say  you  would  give  your  place  in  heaven  for  $70  or  $80. 
Then  you  value  your  place  in  heaven  very  cheap,  for  I  am 
sure  you  can,  with  the  offer  I  make,  get  the  seventy  or 
eighty  dollars  for  four  or  live  months'  work. 

"You  say,  if  I  will  furnish  you  the  money,  you  will 
deed  me  the  land,  and  if  you  don't  pay  the  money  back 
you  will  deliver  possession.  Nonsense !  If  you  can't  now 
live  with  the  land,  how  will  you  then  live  without  it !  You 
have  always  been  kind  to  me,  and  I  do  not  mean  to  be 
unkind  to  you.  On  the  contrary,  if  you  will  but  follow  my 
advice,  you  will  find  it  worth  more  than  eight  times  eighty 
dollars  to  you. 

"Affectionately, 

"Your  brother, 

"A.  Lincoln." 


This  letter  to  his  step-brother,  John  D,  Johnston,  is  of  uncertain 
day  of  January,  1851. 

[58] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ANOTHER  LINCOLN  LETTER 
eJo  OKa^  Slz^,      OrOt^.    <?Ka<u^ 

xHw^^vc,     ^•^^^-'^  J^'>^^^^  a^Xi^::jZZr  ;L  -ee^^^ 

i^  ->^<>wt-  -A.r*<itA-6/»*j«/>»^,  tf-wo^  A<*«-t  ■j«^*^  -cTwA  -^;^  ^i6t*<-*^««^ 
^„j.,v»»,,«-  cf-t^  ,^Uw.««^  a.vw<»^  £0-^,  «iu>v«»^  t^  x>^4..*»^  j^>-i:o<!* 


.yi^ui\.c^<^ 


It  is  not  known  what  became  of  the  original  of  this  beautiful  and 
wholly  Lincoln-like  expression  of  sympathy  to  Mrs.  Bixby.  Its  first 
publication  probably  occurred  in  the  Army  omi!  T^ovi/  Journal  Dec. 
3,  1864   (p.  228).     It  is  there  preceded  by  the  following  note: 

"Mrs.  Bixby,  the  recipient,  is  a  poor  widow,  living  in  the  Eleventh 
Ward  of  Boston.  Her  sixth  son,  who  was  severely  wounded  in  a 
recent  battle,  is  now  lying  in  the  Eeadville  hospital." 

[59] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  SECOND  INAUGURAL  ADDRESS 

FELLOW-COUNTRYIVIEN:  At  this  second  ap- 
pearing to  take  the  oath  of  the  Presidential  office, 
there  is  less  occasion  for  an  extended  address  than  there 
was  at  the  first.  Then,  a  statement,  somewhat  in  detail, 
of  a  course  to  be  pursued,  seemed  fitting  and  proper.  N^ow, 
at  the  expiration  of  four  years,  during  which  public  declar- 
ations have  been  constantly  called  forth  on  every  point  and 
phase  of  the  great  contest  which  still  absorbs  the  attention 
and  engrosses  the  energies  of  the  nation,  little  that  is  new 
could  be  presented.  The  progress  of  our  arms,  upon  which 
all  else  chiefly  depends,  is  as  well  known  to  the  public 
as  to  myself ;  and  it  is,  I  trust,  reasonably  satisfactory  and 
encouraging  to  all.  With  high  hope  for  the  future,  no 
prediction  in  regard  to  it  is  ventured. 

On  the  occasion  corresponding  to  this  four  -years  ago, 
all  thoughts  were  anxiously  directed  to  an  impending  civil 
war.  All  dreaded  it — all  sought  to  avert  it.  While  the 
inaugural  address  was  being  delivered  from  this  place,  de- 
voted altogether  to  saving  the  Union  without  war,  insur- 
gent agents  were  in  the  city  seeking  to  destroy  it  without 
war — seeking  to  dissolve  the  Union,  and  divide  effects,  by 
negotiation.  Both  parties  deprecated  war;  but  one  of 
them  would  make  war  rather  than  let  the  nation  survive; 
[60] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


and  the  other  would  accept  war  rather  than  let  it  perish. 
And  the  war  came. 

One-eighth  of  the  whole  population  were  coloured 
slaves,  not  distributed  generally  over  the  Union,  but  lo- 
calised in  the  Southern  part  of  it.  These  slaves  constitu- 
ted a  peculiar  and  powerful  interest.  All  knew  that  this 
interest  was,  somehow,  the  cause  of  the  war.  To  strengthen, 
perpetuate  and  estend  this  interest  was  the  object  for 
which  the  insurgents  would  rend  the  Union,  even  by  war ; 
while  the  Government  claimed  no  right  to  do  more  than 
to  restrict  the  territorial  enlargement  of  it.  Neither  party 
expected  for  the  war  the  magnitude  or  the  duration  which 
it  has  already  attained.  Neither  anticipated  that  the 
cause  of  the  conflict  might  cease  with,  or  even  before,  the 
conflict  itself  should  cease.  Each  looked  for  an  easier 
triumph,  and  a  result  less  fundamental  and  astounding. 
Both  read  the  same  Bible,  and  pray  to  the  same  God;  and 
each  invokes  His  aid  against  the  other.  It  may  seem 
strange  that  any  men  should  dare  to  ask  a  just  God's  as- 
sistance in  wringing  their  bread  from  the  sweat  of  other 
men's  faces ;  but  let  us  judge  not,  that  we  be  not  judged. 
The  prayers  of  both  could  not  be  answered — that  of  neither 
has  been  answered  fully.  The  Almighty  has  His  own 
purposes.  "Wo  unto  the  world  because  of  offences !  For 
it  must  needs  be  that  offences  come;  but  wo  to  that  man 
by  whom  the  offence  cometh."  If  we  shall  suppose  that 
American  slavery  is  one  of  those  offences  which,  in  the 
providence  of  God,  must  needs  come^  but  which,  having 
continued  through  His  appointed  time.  He  now  wills  to 

[61] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


remove,  and  that  He  gives  to  both  JSTorth  and  South  this 
terrible  war,  as  the  wo  due  to  those  by  whom  the  offence 
came,  shall  we  discern  therein  any  departure  from  those 
attributes  which  the  believers  in  a  living  God  always  as- 
cribe to  Him?  Fondly  do  we  hope — fervently  do  we 
pray — that  this  mighty  scourge  of  war  may  speedily  pass 
away.  Yet,  if  God  wills  that  it  continue  until  all  the 
wealth  piled  by  the  bondman's  two  hundred  and  fifty  years 
of  unrequited  toil  shall  be  sunk,  and  until  every  drop  of 
blood  drawn  with  the  lash  shall  be  paid  with  another 
drawn  with  the  sword,  as  was  said  three  thousand  years 
ago,  so  still  it  must  be  said,  "The  judgTtients  of  the  Lord 
are  true  and  righteous  altogether." 

With  malice  toward  none;  with  charity  for  all;  with 
firmness  in  the  right,  as  God  gives  us  to  see  the  right,  let 
us  strive  on  to  finish  the  work  we  are  in;  to  bind  up  the 
nation's  wounds;  to  care  for  him  who  shall  have  borne 
the  battle,  and  for  his  widow,  and  his  orphan — to  do  all 
which  may  achieve  and  cherish  a  just  and  lasting  peace 
among  ourselves,  and  with  all  nations. 

Abeaham  Lincoln. 

March  J,,  1865. 


[62] 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S  PLACE  IN  HISTORY 


I 


"Here  is  one  more  honoured  thun  any  other  man  while 
living,  more  revered  when  dying,  and  destined  to  he  loved 
to  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time." 


STATUE    OF    ABRAHAM    LIXCOLX    BY    ADOLPII    ALEXANDER    WEIN'MAN, 
IN   PUBLIC  SQUARE,    IIODGENSVILLE,    KENTUCKY 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN'S  PLACE  IN  HISTORY 

HUMAlSr  glory  is  often  fickle  as  the  winds,  and 
transient  as  a  summer  day;  but  Abraham  Lin- 
coln's place  in  history  is  assured.  All  the  symbols  of  this 
world's  admiration  are  his.  He  is  embalmed  in  song, 
recorded  in  history,  eulogised  in  panegyric,  cast  in  bronze, 
sculptured  in  marble,  painted  on  canvas,  enshrined  in  the 
hearts  of  his  countrymen,  and  lives  in  the  memories  of 
mankind.  Some  men  are  brilliant  in  their  times,  but  their 
words  and  deeds  are  of  little  worth  to  history;  but 
his  mission  was  as  large  as  his  country,  vast  as  humanity^ 
enduring  as  time.  No  greater  thought  can  ever  enter  the 
human  mind  than  obedience  to  law  and  freedom  for  all. 
Some  men  are  not  honoured  by  their  contemporaries,  and 
die  neglected.  Here  is  one  more  honoured  than  any  other 
man  while  living,  more  revered  when  dying,  and  destined 
to  be  loved  to  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time.  He  has 
this  threefold  greatness, — great  in  life,  great  in  death, 
great  in  the  history  of  the  world.  Lincoln  will  grow  upon 
the  attention  and  the  affections  of  posterity,  because  he 
saved  the  life  of  the  greatest  ncition,  whose  ever  widening 
influence  is  to  bless  humanity.  Measured  by  this  standard, 
Lincoln  shall  live  in  history  from  age  to  age.  i 

Great  men  appear  in  groups,  and  in  groups  they  disap+ 

[65] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


pear  from  the  vision  of  the  world;  but  we  do  not  love  or 
hate  men  in  groups.  "We  speak  of  Gutenberg  and  his 
coadjutors,  of  Washing-ton  and  his  generals,  of  Lincoln 
and  his  cabinet ;  but  when  the  day  of  judgment  comes,  we 
crown  the  inventor  of  printing,  we  place  the  laurel  on  the 
brow  of  the  father  of  his  country,  and  the  chaplet  of  re- 
nown upon  the  head  of  the  saviour  of  the  Republic. 

Some  men  are  great  from  the  littleness  of  their  sur- 
roundings, but  he  only  is  great  who  is  great  amid  great- 
ness. Lincoln  had  great  associates, — Seward,  the  saga- 
cious diplomatist;  Chase,  the  eminent  financier;  Stanton, 
the  incomparable  Secretary  of  War ;  with  illustrious  sena- 
tors and  soldiers.  !None  could  take  his  part  nor  fill  his 
position.  And  the  same  law  of  the  coming  and  going  of 
great  men  is  true  of  our  own  day.  In  piping  times  of 
peace,  genius  is  not  aflame,  and  true  gi-eatness  is  not  ap- 
parent ;  but  when  the  crisis  comes,  then  God  lifts  the  cur- 
tain from  obscurity  and  reveals  the  man  for  the  hour. 

Lincoln  stands  forth  on  the  page  of  history,  unique  in 
his  character  and  majestic  in  his  individuality.  Like  Mil- 
ton's angel,  he  was  an  original  conception.  He  was  raised 
up  for  his  times.  He  was  a  leader  of  leaders.  By  in- 
stinct the  common  heart  trusted  him.  He  was  of  the 
people  and  for  the  people.  He  had  been  poor  and  labori- 
ous; but  greatness  did  not  change  the  tone  of  his  spirit, 
or  lessen  the  s^onpathies  of  his  nature.  His  character  was 
strangely  sj^rametrical.  He  was  temperate,  without  auster- 
ity ;  brave,  without  rashness ;  constant,  without  obstinacy. 
He  put  caution  against  hope,  that  it  might  not  be  preraa- 
[66] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ture;  and  hope  against  caution,  that  it  might  not  yield  to 
dread  or  danger.  His  marvellous  hopefulness  never  be- 
trayed him  into  impracticable  measures.  His  love  of  jus- 
tice was  only  equalled  by  his  delight  in  compassion.  His 
regard  for  personal  honour  was  only  excelled  by  love  of 
country.  His  self-abnegation  found  its  highest  expression 
in  the  public  good.  His  integrity  was  never  questioned. 
His  honesty  was  above  suspicion.  He  was  more  solid  than 
brilliant;  his  judgment  dominated  his  imagination;  his 
ambition  was  subject  to  his  modesty,  and  his  love  of  jus- 
tice held  the  mastery  over  all  personal  considerations.  Not 
excepting  Washington,  who  inherited  wealth  and  high  so- 
cial position,  Lincoln  is  the  fullest  representative  Ameri- 
can in  our  national  annals.  He  had  touched  every  round 
in  the  human  ladder.  He  illustrated  the  possibilities  of 
our  citizenship.  We  are  not  ashamed  of  his  humble  ori- 
gin.   We  are  proud  of  his  greatness. 

We  are  to  judge  men  by  their  surroundings,  and  meas- 
ure their  greatness  by  the  difficulties  which  they  sur- 
mounted. Every  age  has  its  heroes,  every  crisis  its  master. 
Lincoln  came  into  power  in  the  largest  and  most  violent 
political  convulsion  known  to  history.  In  nothing  is  the 
sagacity  and  might  of  Lincoln's  statesmanship  more  ap- 
parent than  in  his  determination  to  save  the  Union  of 
these  States.  This  was  the  objective  point  of  his  admin- 
istration. He  denied  State  Sovereignty  as  paramount  to 
^National  Sovereignty.  States  have  their  rights  and  their 
obligations ;  and  their  chief  obligation  is  to  remain  in  the 
Union.     Some  political  philanthropists  clamoured  for  the 

[67] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


overthrow  of  slavery,  and  advocated  the  dissolution  of  the 
Union  rather  than  live  in  a  country  under  whose  govern- 
ment slavery  was  tolerated.  But  Lincoln  was  a  wiser  and 
a  better  philanthropist  than  they.  He  would  have  the 
Union,  with  or  without  slavery.  He  preferred  it  without, 
and  his  preference  prevailed.  How  incomparably  worse 
would  have  been  the  condition  of  the  slave  in  a  Confeder- 
acy with  a  living  slave  for  its  comer  stone  than  in  the 
Union  of  the  States!  Time  has  vindicated  the  character 
of  his  statesmanship,  that  to  preserve  the  Union  was  '"o 
save  this  great  nation  for  human  liberty,  and  thereby  ad- 
vance the  emancipated  slave  to  education,  thrift,  and  po- 
litical equality. 

Bishop  John  Philip  Newman. 

From  "Pieces  for  Every  Occasion,"  compiled  by  Caroline  B.  Le 
Row;  copyright,  1901,  by  Hinds  &  Noble. 


[68] 


I.     THE  SOURCE  OF  LINCOLN 


"Thank  God  for  sires  like  these! 

Thank  God  for  mothers  ivho  could  hrave  the  seas. 

And  savage  toil,  that  we,  their  sons,  might  be 

Forever  free  I" 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  WEST 

OUT  of  the  ^Vest  a  Man, — 
One  man  from  all  the  West, 
In  all  the  years,  a  myriad  compressed; 
What  lion  breed,  what  sky,  what  potent  earth 
Shall  give  him  birth? 

What  arms  his  cradle  he. 
What  scenes  and  men  shall  mould  his  infancy. 
This  typal  Man,  this  latest,  strongest,  best. 
This  hero  of  the  West? 


Only  the  bravest  came, 

The  coward  trembled  at  the  two  months'  sea ; 
Only  the  strongest  came, — 

The  weakling  feared  the  storm's  inclemency; 
Only  the  best  survived, — 

The  faint  and  weary  sank  beneath  their  load, 
Beneath  the  squalor  of  the  winter  woods. 
The  grinding  toil,  the  maddening  solitudes ; 

Only  the  fit  and  few, 
The  demigods  alone,  shall  blaze  the  road 

In  worlds  unmanned  and  new ; 
Only  the  granite  will, 
Only  the  spark  divine  no  force  may  kill; 

[71] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  WEST— [Con tinwed] 

Only  the  doubly  picked,  the  best  from  out  the  best, 
Those  mighty  ones  who  broke  our  mighty  West. 

Behold  them  fling  the  seed, 
This  Titan  breed, 

Crashing  the  forest  down. 

Razing  with  sweat  the  site  for  mead  and  town, 
And  pressing  ever  westward  undismayed, — 

A  century  of  forest  and  of  toil. 

Of  bare-hand  battle  for  the  naked  soil, 
As  Jacob  wrestled  on  the  midnight  sod, 
As  face  to  face  with  God. 

And  shall  they  weaklings  be? 

In  every  fibre  shall  they  not  be  free? 
And  can  you  bend  them  to  the  despot's  will  ? 
And  can  you  grind  them  in  a  tyrant's  mill, 

These  lusty,  full-lunged  breakers  of  the  West, 

These  forest-whelped,  who  knew  nor  ease  nor  rest 
Nor  law  nor  king's  decree 
Save  God  and  strength  of  arm  and  liberty? 

And  shall  they  cringe  and  fawn. 

And   shall  they  yield   like  that  low  feudal   spawn 
Age  long  wrung  out  for  gold  and  power  and  bread, 
Until  their  very  hearts  and  souls  are  dead? 

Thank  God  for  sires  like  these! 

Thank  God  for  mothers  who  could  brave  the  seas. 

And  savage  toil,  that  we,  their  sons,  might  be 

Forever  free. 

[72] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  JklAN  OF  THE  WEST— [Continued] 

Out  of  this  West  a  Man, 

One  Man  from  all  the  West, 

In  all  the  years,  a  myriad  com,pressed ; 
What  lion  breed,  what  sky,  what  potent  earth 
Shall  give  him  birth ? 

What  arms  his  cradle  be. 

What  scenes  and.  men  shall  mould  his  infancy. 
This  typal  Man,  this  latest,  strongest,  best. 
This  hero  of  the  West? 

A  nation  is  a  man ;  one  Titan  soul 
Pervades  the  whole. 

What  human  art 

May  tear  from  France  the  stamp  of  Bonaparte? 
The  empire  on  the  Khine, — 
What  is  it  but  a  Bismarck  made  divine? 

And  Spain  is  Philip,  though  the  outer  show 

Has  vanished  long  ago; 
And  Britain  would  no  longer  Britain  be 
Without  her  iron  duke,  her  Nelson  on  the  sea. 

But  what  of  that  new  empire  of  the  West, 

That  rising  power  that  shadows  all  the  rest? 
What  Titan  man  shall  be  her  hero  soul 
To  rule  and  stamp  the  whole  ? 
Shall  he  be  gently  born, 

Of  ancient  lineage  and  high  degree? 

Shall  he  a  courtier  be. 
And  roundly  trained  all  circles  to  adorn  ? 

[73] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  ]MAN  OF  THE  WEST— [Continued] 

Shall  he  be  softly  reared  upon  the  gold 
"Wrung  from  the  peasant  with  a  strangle  hold  ? 

Shall  he  know  luxury 

And  live  in  riot,  none  to  say  him  nay, 
!N"or  ever  toil  to  win  an  honest  day? 

Thank  God,  the  virile,  Manhood-moulding  West 

Counts  this  not  best. 

Thank  God,  upon  our  soil 
The  man  must  toil. 

Thank  God  the  man  we  pick  to  mould  the  rest 

Must  be  one  nurtured  at  the  new  world's  breast. 

Behold  this  hero,  gaunt  and  border  born, 

A  man  with  every  shred  of  soul  and  heart 

Of  our  new  soil  a  part. 

Behold  him ;  this  is  he, 

This  Jarl  full-lunged,  in  every  fibre  free, 
Unpolished  and  ungainly;  honest  youth 
Is  evermore  uncouth, — 

And  we  are  young.     Thank  God,  these  western  lands 

Are  still  in  swaddling  bands; 
]^o  task  completely  done; 
The  mighty  day  is  hardly  yet  begun. 

Behold  him  solid  to  the  inner  ring 

Like  some  gnarled  forest  king. 
Behold  him,  self-reliant  as  a  god, 
Erect,  clear-eyed,  unawed; 

[74] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  JSIAN"  OF  THE  WEST— [Continued] 

A  man  of  bare-armed  toil, 

Who  want  has  known  and  all  the  fret  and  moil 
And  lonely  heartache  of  the  pioneer. 
Behold  him  here, 

This  sad-eyed,  silent  man, 
And  note  the  mighty  power 
Coiled  in  his  soul  and  waiting  for  its  hour, — 

The  power  to  seize  its  day ;  to  work  and  plan 
And  bide  its  time ;  and  single  out  the  best, — 
The  training  of  our  Man-producing  West. 

From  out  the  West  a  Man. 
Behold  our  hero,  him  we  joy  to  hold 
Before  our  sons  to  thrill  and  test  and  mould. 

'No  Bismarck  he, 

1^0  man  of  blood  and  iron  and  destiny; 
!No  Philip  void  of  conscience  and  of  heart; 
No  self -a  wed  Bonaparte; 

But  one  as  gentle  as  a  mother's  soul ; 
As  tender  as  a  maiden,  as  a  child 
As  pure  of  heart  and  undefiled; 

Yet  strong  withal  and  mighty  to  control 

And  bend  the  kings  of  men  to  do  his  will; 
A  man  of  humble  heart,  yet  strong  to  sway 
A  continent  his  way 

God's  purpose  to  fulfil. 

And  they  have  called  us  small  and  craven-souled, 
Slaves  of  the  dollar  mark, 

[75] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  WEST— [Continued] 

Without  a  thought  above  the  maddening  cark 
That  makes  for  gold; 

And  they  have  cast 

The  taunt  that  we're  a  herd  without  a  past. 
Without  a  past!     My  God,  and  have  they  read 
The  roll-call  of  our  dead? 

Those  stern,  brave  mothers  of  our  raw  frontiers, 

Those  mighty  pioneers, 
Whose  every  step  was  toil  and  sacrifice 
And  blood  and  streaming  eyes? 

And  think  they  that  the  tears 

And  heartaches  of  that  fierce  three  hundred  years 
Have  been  forgot  ? 

'No,  every  mile  of  our  vast  nation's  spread 

Is  sacred  vdth  our  dead, 
And  every  page  upon  our  record  roll 
Has  its  heroic  soul. 

And  can  we  cravens  be 

Who  heir  this  mighty,  blood-bought  legacy? 
Can  we  be  sordid  souled 
And  sell  our  priceless  heritage  for  gold 

Who  bear  within  our  veins  some  hero's  tide. 

And  breathe  full  lunged  the  air  for  which  he  died? 
Ah,  all  in  vain  they  strike  their  puny  blow. 
They  do  not  know. 

And  they  forget  the  mighty  hero  soul 

Who  heads  our  roll. 

[76] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  WEST— [Continued] 

With  him  our  model  can  we  sordid  be? 
With  him  to  mould  us  shall  we  not  be  free  ? 

And  shall  we  not  in  every  nerve  be  true, 
And  shall  we  not  for  God  our  duty  do? 
And  humble  be, 
And  gentle  as  the  Christ  of  Galilee? 

Yet  fierce  withal  to  right  a  brother's  wo 
And  fight  and  die  if  duty  hold  it  so? 
To  guard  our  country's  honest  name 
From  every  breath  of  calumny  and  shame? 
To  die  exulting  with  our  latest  breath, 
If  but  the  dear  land  profit  by  our  death, 
To  hold  forev      in  our  inmost  breast 
A  mighty  love  for  this,  our  mother  West, 
The  land  of  all  God's  goodly  land  the  best. 

And  this  we  learned  of  that  strong,  typal  man 

Who  drew  our  plan, 

That  final  plan,  the  gi-owth  of  our  new  soil, 
The  culmination  of  three  centuries'  toil. 

The  plan  of  empire  that  shall  dominate 

The  tyrant  state, 

And  sweep  injustice  from  the  ocean's  brim, 
And  make  us  strong  forever,  having  him. 

Ah,  deathless  one,  we  see  the  hand  of  G-od 

And  we  are  stilL 
He  does  not  work  in  petty  human  ways, 

All  glcrry  to  His  wilL 

[TT] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  MAN  OF  THE  WEST— [Continued] 

The  mighty  He  casts  down, 

And  those  of  low  degree, 

The  pure  in  heart,  His  mighty  ones  shall  be. 
And  this  the  message  to  our  rising  West: 
There  is  no  high  or  low,  and  truth  is  best. 

Feed  Lewis  Pattee. 


[78] 


II.     THE  MOTHER  OF  LINCOLN 


'^Mother  of  Lincoln, 
Our  tears,  our  praise; 

A  hattle-flag 

And  the  victor's  hays!** 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


NANCY  HANKS  LINCOLN 

PRAIEIE  child, 
Brief  as  dew, 
What  winds  of  wonder 
Nourished  you? 

Rolling  plains 

Of  billowy  green; 

Far  horizons, 
Blue,  serene; 

Lofty  skies 

The  slow  clouds  climb, 
.Where  burning  stars 

Beat  out  the  time: 

These,   and   the  dreams 
Of  fathers  bold — 

Baffled  longings, 
Hopes  untold — 

Gave  to  you 

A  heart  of  fire, 
Love  like  deep  waters, 

Brave  desire. 


[81] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


NANCY  HANKS  LINCOLN— [Con/i»Mcrf] 

Ah,  when  youth's  rapture 

Went  out  in  pain, 
And  all  seemed  over, 

Was  all  in  vain  ? 

O  soul  obscure, 

Whose  wings  life  bound. 

And  soft  death  folded 
Under  the  ground. 

Wilding  lady, 

Still  and  true, 
Who  gave  us  Lincoln 

And  never  knew: 

To  you  at  last 

Our  praise,  our  tears. 

Love  and  a  song- 
Through  the  nation's  years. 

Mother  of  Lincoln, 

Our  tears,  our  praise ; 
A  battle-flag 

And  the  victor's  bays! 

Haeriet  Moneoe. 


[82] 


III.     TO  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN 


''Made  hy  God's  providence  the  Anointed  One.' 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


TO  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN 

PKOUDEST  of  all  earth's  thrones 
Is  his  who  rules  by  a  free  people's  choice ; 
Who,   'midst  fierce  party  strife  and  battle  groans, 
Hears,  ever  rising  in  harmonious  tones, 
A  grateful  people's  voice. 

Steadfast  in  thee  we  trust. 

Tried  as  no  man  was  ever  tried  before; 
God  made  thee  merciful, — God  keep  thee  just; 
Be  true!  and  triumph  over  all  thou  must. 

God  bless  thee  evermore! 

Anonymous. 


[85] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


SUCH,  AND  SO  GIFTED,  LINCOLN 

STER:^  be  the  Pilot  in  the  dreadful  hour 
When  a  gi-eat  nation,  like  a  ship  at  sea 
With  the  wroth  breakers  whitening  her  lee, 
Feels  her  last  shudder  if  the  helmsman  cower; 
A  godlike  manhood  be  his  mighty  dower! 

Such,  and  so  gifted,  Lincoln,  may'st  thou  be 
With  thy  high  wisdom's  low  simplicity 
And  a%vful  tenderness  of  voted  power: 
From  our  hot  records  then  thy  name  shall  stand 

On   Time's   calm   ledger   out   of   passionate   days — 
With  the  pure  debt  of  gratitude  begun. 

And  only  paid  in  never-ending  praise — 
One  of  the  many  of  a  mighty  Land, 
Made  by  God's  providence  the  Anointed  One. 

John  James  Piatt. 
(1862) 


[86] 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN   AND    HIS   SECRETARIES,    MESSRS.    JOHN   G.    NICOLAY 
AND  JOHN   HAY 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


TO  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN 

Jaivuarij  1,  1863 

LINCOLiN',   that  with  thy  steadfast  truth   the   sand 
Of  men  and  time  and  circumstance  dost  sway ! 
The  slave-cloud  dwindles  on  this  golden  day, 
And  over  all  the  pestilent  southern  land, 
Breathless,  the  dark  expectant  millions  stand. 
To  watch  the  northern  sun  rise  on  its  way. 
Cleaving  the  stormy  distance — every  ray 
Sword-bright,  sword-sharp,  in  God's  invisible  hand. 

Better  with  this  great  end,  partial  defeat. 

And  jibings  of  the  ignorant  worldly-wise. 

Than  laud  and  triumph  won  with  shameful  blows. 
The  dead  Past  lies  in  its  dead  winding-sheet ; 

The  living  Present  droops  with  tearful  eyes; 
But  far  beyond  the  awaiting  Future  glows. 

Edmund  Olliek. 
Morning  Star,  London,  England. 


[87] 


IV.     THE  FIRST  AMERICAN 


'New  hirth  of  our  new  soil,  the  first  American.' 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  FIRST  AMERICAN 

LIFE  may  be  given  in  many  ways, 
And  loyalty  to  Truth  be  sealed 
As  bravely  in  the  closet  as  the  field, 
So  bountiful  is  Fate ; 
But  then  to  stand  beside  her, 
When  craven  churls  deride  her, 
To  front  a  lie  in  arms  and  not  to  yield. 
This  shows,  methinks,  God's  plan 
And  measure  of  a  stalwart  man, 
Limbed  like  the  old  heroic  breeds, 
Who  stand  self-poised  on  manhood's  solid  earth, 
E'ot  forced  to  frame  excuses  for  his  birth. 
Fed  from  within  with  all  the  strength  he  needs. 


Such  was  he,  our  Martyr-Chief, 

Whom  late  the  JS'ation  he  had  led, 

With  ashes  on  her  head. 
Wept  with  the  passion  of  an  angry  grief: 
Forgive  me,  if  from  present  things  I  turn 
To  speak  what  in  my  heart  will  beat  and  burn. 
And  hang  my  wrath  on  his  world-honoured  urn. 

IsTature,  they  say,  doth  dote, 

And  cannot  make  a  man 

Save  on  some  worn-out  plan, 

Kepeating  us  by  rote : 

[91] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  FIRST  AMERICAN— [ConiwmecZ] 

For  him  her  Old-World  moulds  aside  she  threw, 

And,  choosing  sweet  clay  from  the  hreast 

Of  the  unexhausted  West, 
With  stuff  untainted  shaped  a  hero  new, 
Wise,  steadfast  in  the  strength  of  God,  and  tnie. 

How  beautiful  to  see 
Once  more  a  shepherd  of  mankind  indeed. 
Who  loved  his  charge,  but  never  loved  to  lead; 
One  whose  meek  flock  the  people  joyed  to  be. 

Not  lured  by  any  cheat  of  birth. 

But  by  his  clear-grained  human  worth. 
And  brave  old  wisdom  of  sincerity ! 

They  knew  that  outward  gi*ace  is  dust; 

They  could  not  choose  but  trust 
In  that  sure-footed  mind's  unfaltering  skill, 

And  supple-tempered  will 
That  bent  like  perfect  steel  to  spring  again  and  thrust, 

His  was  no  lonely  mountain-peak  of  mind. 
Thrusting  to  thin  air  o'er  our  cloudy  bars, 
A  sea-mark  now,  now  lost  in  vapours  blind; 
Broad  prairie  rather,  genial,  level-lined. 
Fruitful  and  friendly  for  all  human  kind, 

Yet,  also  nigh  to  heaven  and  loved  of  loftiest  stars. 
Nothing  of  Europe  here. 

Or,  then,  of  Europe  fronting  mornward  still. 
Ere  any  names  of  Serf  and  Peer 
Could  Nature's  equal  scheme  deface 
[92] 


STATUE    OF    ABRAIIA:M    LINCOLN    BV     ADOI.I'll    AI.KXAMIl.H     WI.INMA.V 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  FIRST  AMERICAN— [Continued] 
And  thwart  her  genial  will ; 
Here  was  a  type  of  the  true  elder  race, 
And  one  of  Plutarch's  men  talked  with  us  face  to  face. 

I  praise  him  not ;  it  were  too  late ; 
And  some  innative  weakness  there  must  be 
In  him  who  condescends  to  victory 
Such  as  the  Present  gives,  and  cannot  wait, 
Safe  in  himself  as  in  a  fate. 
So  always  firmly  he : 
Ho  knew  to  bide  his  time, 
And  can  his  fame  abide. 
Still  patient  in  his  simple  faith  sublime. 
Till  the  wise  years  decide. 
Great  captains  with  their  guns  and  drums. 
Disturb  our  judgment  for  the  hour, 
But  at  last  silence  comes; 
These  all  are  gone,  and,  standing  like  a  tower. 
Our  children  shall  behold  his  fame. 

The  kindly-earnest,  brave,  foreseeing  man, 
Sagacious,  patient,  di'eading  praise,  not  blame, 
'New  birth  of  our  new  soil,  the  first  American. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 
From  Ode  Recited  at  the  Harvard  Commemoration,  July  21,  1865. 


[03] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

WHE;N  the  'Norn  Mother  saw  the  Whirlwind  Hour, 
Threatening  and  darkening  as  it  hurried  on, 
She  left  the  Heaven  of  Heroes  and  came  down 
To  make  a  man  to  meet  the  mighty  need. 
She  took  the  tried  clay  of  the  common  road, 
Clay  warm  yet  with  the  genial  heat  of  Earth, 
Dashed  through  it  all  a  strain  of  prophecy; 
Tempered  the  heap  with  touch  of  mortal  tears. 
Then  mixed  a  laughter  with  the  serious  stuff. 


The  colour  of  the  gi'ound  was  in  him,  the  red  earth, 
The  tang  and  odour  of  the  primal  things — 
The  rectitude  and  patience  of  the  rocks ; 
The  gladness  of  the  wind  that  shakes  the  corn; 
The  courage  of  the  bird  that  dares  the  sea; 
The  justice  of  the  rain  that  loves  all  leaves ; 
The  pity  of  the  snow  that  hides  all  scars ; 
The  loving-kindness  of  the  wayside  well; 
The  tolerance  and  equity  of  light 
That  gives  as  freely  to  the  shrinking  weed 
As  to  the  great  oak  flaring  to  the  wind — 
To  the  grave's  low  hill  as  to  the  Matterhorn 
That  shoulders  out  the  sky. 
[94] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN,  THE  MAN  OF  THE  PEOPLE— [Continued] 

And  so  he  came. 
From  prairie  cabin  up  to  Capitol 
One  fair  Ideal  led  our  chieftain  on. 
Forevermore  ho  burned  to  do  his  deed 
With  the  fine  stroke  and  gesture  of  a  king. 
He  built  the  rail  pile  as  he  built  the  State, 
Pouring  his  splendid  strength  through  every  blow, 
The  conscience  of  him  testing  every  stroke, 
To  make  his  deed  the  measure  of  a  man. 

So  came  the  Captain  with  the  mighty  heart : 

And  when  the  step  of  Earthquake  shook  the  house, 

Wrenching  the  rafters  from  their  ancient  hold, 

He  held  the  ridgepole  up  and  spiked  again 

The  rafters  of  the  Home.     He  held  his  place — 

Held  the  long  purpose  like  a  growing  tree — 

Held  on  through  blame  and  faltered  not  at  praise, 

And  when  he  fell  in  whirlwind,  he  went  down 

As  when  a  kingly  cedar  green  with  boughs 

Goes  down  with  a  gTeat  shout  upon  the  hills 

And  leaves  a  lonesome  place  against  the  sky. 

Edwin  Maekham. 


[95] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  MASTER 

A  flying  word  from  here  and  there 
Had  sown  the  name  at  which  we  sneered, 
But  soon  the  name  was  everywhere, 
To  be  reviled  and  then  revered : 
A  presence  to  be  loved  and  feared, 
We  cannot  hide  it,  or  deny 
That  we,  the  gentlemen  who  jeered, 
May  be  forgotten  by  and  by. 

He  came  when  days  were  perilous 
And  hearts  of  men  were  sore  beguiled ; 
And  having  made  his  note  of  us, 
He  pondered  and  was  reconciled. 
Was  ever  master  yet  so  mild 
As  he,  and  so  untamable  ? 
We  doubted,  even  when  he  smiled. 
Not  knowing  what  he  knew  so  well. 

He  knew  that  undeceiving  fate 
Would  shame  us  whom  he  served  unsought ; 
He  knew  that  he  must  wince  and  wait — 
The  jest  of  those  for  whom  he  fought; 


From  "The  Town  Down  the  River;"  copyright,  1910,  by  Charles 
Scribner's  Sons. 


[96] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  MASTER— [Continued] 

He  knew  devoutedly  what  he  thought 
Gf  us  and  of  our  ridicule; 
He  knew  that  we  must  all  be  taught 
Like  little  children  in  a  school. 

We  gave  a  glamour  to  the  task 

That  he  encountered  and  saw  through, 

But  little  of  us  did  he  ask, 

And  little  did  we  ever  do. 

And  what  appears  if  we  review 

The  season  when  we  railed  and  chaffed? 

It  is  the  face  of  one  who  knew 

That  we  were  learning  while  we  laughed. 

The  face  that  in  our  vision  feels 
Again  the  venom  that  we  flung, 
Transfigured  to  the  world  reveals 
The  vigilance  to  which  we  clung. 
Shrewd,  hallowed,  harassed,  and  among 
The  mysteries  that  are  untold. 
The  face  we  see  was  never  young, 
Nor  could  it  ever  have  been  old. 

Tor  he  to  whom  we  had  applied 
Our  shopman's  test  of  age  and  worth, 
Was  elemental  when  he  died. 
As  he  was  ancient  at  his  birth: 
The  saddest  among  kings  of  earth, 
Bowed  with  a  galling  crown,  this  man 

[97] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINXOLN 


THE  ]>,iASTER— [Continued] 

Met  rancor  with  a  cryptic  mirth, 
Laconic — and  Olympian. 

The  love,  the  grandeur,  and  the  fame 
Are  bounded  by  the  world  alone; 
The  calm,  the  smouldering,  and  the  flame 
Of  awful  patience  were  his  own : 
With  him  they  are  forever  flown 
Past  all  our  lond  self-shadowings, 
Wherewith  we  cumber  the  Unknown 
As  with  inept  Icarian  wings. 

Tor  we  were  not  as  other  men: 
'Twas  ours  to  soar  and  his  to  see. 
But  we  are  coming  down,  again. 
And  we  shall  come  down  pleasantly ; 
JSTor  shall  we  longer  disagree 
On  what  it  is  to  be  sublime. 
But  flourish  in  our  perigee 
And  have  one  Titan  at  a  time. 

Edwin  Aklington"  Robinsoit. 


[98] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


H 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

IS  people  called  and  forth  he  came 
As  one  that  answers  to  his  name ; 


I*^or  dreamed  how  high  his  charge, 
His  privilege  how  large, — 

To  set  the  stones  back  in  the  wall 
Lest  the  divided  house  should  fall. 
The  shepherd  who  would  keep 
The  flocks,  would  fold  the  sheep. 

Humbly  he  came,  yet  with  the  mien 
Presaging  the  immortal  scene, — 
Some  battle  of  His  wars 
Who  sealeth  up  the  stars. 

Ko  flaunting  of  the  banners  bold 
Borne  by  the  haughty  sons  of  old; 
Their  blare,  their  pageantries. 
Their  goal, — they  were  not  his. 

We  called,  he  came;  he  came  to  crook 
The  spear  into  the  pruning-hook. 
To  toil,  untimely  sleep. 
And  leave  a  world  to  weep. 

John  Vance  Cheney. 
[99] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

WHEN"  I  remember  how  he  dauntless  stood, 
Giving  himself  to  stem  the  civic  flood; 
How  o'er  his  head  the  high  waves  seemed  to  meet, 
Yet  broke  and  parted,  flowing  slow  about  his  feet; 
When  I  remember  what  his  face  made  known, 
How  the  crude  clay  became  the  angel  in  stone, 
I  tremble,  dimly  knowing  that  God's  plan 
Found  part  of  its  fulfilment  in  this  man. 

The  mass  is  man-becoming, — he  became; 
In  what  he  was  is  our  potential  fame; 
So  blended  are  we  all  that  one  brave  soul 
Cannot  achieve  the  stars  but  that  the  whole 
Pulses  with  deeper  life,  and  feels  the  night 
Lift  to  that  morn  where  all  shall  walk  in  light 

Valeiia  Kelset 


[lOOj 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


F 


LINCOLN 

I  ATE  struck  the  hour! 
A  crisis  hour  of  Time. 
The  tocsin  of  a  people  clanging  forth 
Thro'  the  wild  South  and  thro'  the  startled  IN^orth 
Called  for  a  leader,  master  of  his  kind, 
Fearless  and  firm,  with  clear  foreseeing  mind ; 
Who  should  not  flinch  from  calumny  or  scorn, 
Who  in  the  depth  of  night  could  ken  the  morn; 
Wielding  a  giant  power 
Humbly,  with  faith  sublime. 
God  knew  the  man  His  sovereign  grace  had  sealed; 
God  touched  the  man,  and  Lincoln  stood  revealed ! 

Jane  L.  Hardy 


1101] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


"MANIBUS  DATE  LILIA  PLENIS" 

GEEATHEAET,  so  lowly  born,  so  rudely  bred, 
Decreed  the  Captain  of  those  lurid  years, 
Loneling  of  Time,  with  suffocating  tears 
Laid  tenderly  among  the  mightiest  dead, 
What  trust,  what  love,  thy  towering  spirit  led 
Thro'  dark,  tremendous  days!     What  sanity 
Girded  thy  sadness,  Lincoln!     Humanity 
Thy  mystic  kin,  whose  life  with  longing  bled. 
Out  of  the  West,  to  weld  the  South  and  North 
In  the  war-blast,  simple,  so  unaware 
Of  thy  rare  dignity,  pitiful  and  wise. 
Hearing  the  undertones  that  summoned  forth 
Great  hosts  to  die,  when  all  was  done,  to  bear 
Thy  red  libation  to  the  sacrifice ! 

M.  WooLSEY  Steykee. 


[102] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


A  HERO 

HE  sang  of  joy;  whate'er  he  knew  of  sadness 
He  kept  for  his  own  heart's  peculiar  share: 
So  well  he  sang,  the  world  imagined  gladness 
To  be  sole  tenant  there; 

For  dreams  were  his,   and  in  the  dawn's  fair  shining, 
His  spirit  soared  beyond  the  mounting  lark ; 

But  from  his  lips  no  accent  of  repining 
Fell  when  the  days  grew  dark; 

And  though  contending  long  dread  Fate  to  master, 

He  failed  at  last  her  enmity  to  cheat ; 
He  turned  with  such  a  smile  to  face  disaster 

That  he  sublimed  defeat. 

Florence  Eaele  Coates 


[103] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

The  Child 

AS  by  the  fire,  a  knot  of  pine  for  light, 
The  boy  from  freshly  finished  toil  lies  down 
To  master  mysteries  of  verb  and  noun. 
Unmindful  of  the  hours  in  hurried  flight. 
E'en  fairyland  with  king  and  doughty  knight, 
Who  wage  their  mimic  wars  in  floral  crown, — 
As  youth,    awak'ning,    shows  reluctant  frown,- 
Must  give  the  day  and  loan  the  hours  of  night 

So  he  who  sees  real  battles  to  be  won 
By  thoughts  and  courage  rescued  from  the  wild 
Tumultuous  years  of  boyhood  reconciled 
To  share  the  toil  of  brain  with  boist'rous  fun, 
To  learn,  to  know,  perchance  to  weep,  as  one 
Who  bears  a  manly  burden  while  a  child. 

The  Man 
What  time  a  gloom  enshrouds  the  harried  ground, 
A  pall  engulfs  our  hope,  and  glory  hides 
Behind  a  wall  of  hatred  that  divides 
The  states  a  nation  thought  securely  bound ; 
While  strife  and  noise  of  war  afar  resound, 
A  man  steps  forth  between  the  swinging  tides 
To  teach  the  world  anew  that  right  abides 
[104] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN— [Continued] 

Where  freedom,  love,  and  faith  in  man  abound. 

In  vain  he  writhed  e'er  Hell  should  swing  the  gate 
To  reap  the  bloody  fields,  to  kill  and  maim. 
In  vain  would  he  the  sundered  lands  reclaim; 

Yet  spelled  the  riven  stars  his  cruel  fate: 

To  face  the  avalanche  of  war  and  hate 
Till  Death  entwined  the  martyr's  crown  of  fame. 

The  Memoey 

Ah,  such  a  man  empyreal  sphere  attains, 

Who  knows  and  feels  his  fellow's  hurts  and  needs. 
Whose  heart  responds  to  every  wound  that  bleeds 

And  every  soul  entrapped  by  cruel  pains. 

With  love  that  falls  like  Heaven's  fresh'ning  rains, 
Uplifts  the  fallen  and  all  the  hungry  feeds, 
Ignoring  hate  of  race  or  jangling  creeds. 

Or  stains  of  iron  from  lately  broken  chains. 
How  strong  thy  love,  yet  meek  as  gentle  dove! 

Such  perfect  bloom  from  lowly  tangled  sod! 

While  groping  mortals,  striving  upward,  plod. 

They'll  reach  and  strain  for  thy  enkindling  love — 
Triumphant  love  vouchsafed  from  realms  above, — 

In  human  form,  the  majesty  of  God. 

Edmond  S.  Meant. 


[105] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  STAR  OF  SANGAMON 

AE'ATIGN  called  through  the  gloom 
In  one  long  wail  of  despair, 
One  multitudinous  prayer, 
'ISTeath  portent  of  hastening  doom ; 
And  myriad  strained  eyes 
Were  lifted  to  lowering  skies. 

But  on  a  sudden  the  night 
Was  shaken;  a  marvellous  light 
Burst  forth,  an  effulgent  spark 
Against  the  o'erwhelming  dark, 
It  waxed,  it  whitened,  it  shone 
Aflame  in  the  widening  zone 
Of  dawn;  and  a  world  intent 
Head,  scanning  the  firmament, 
God's  covenant  blazed  thereon, 
America's  horoscope. 
The  sign  of  a  I^ation's  hope. 
The  Star  of  Sangamon. 

Not  out  of  the  East  but  the  West 
A  Star  and  a  Saviour  arose; 
A  light  to  an  eager  quest, 
A  spirit  of  grace  possessed, 
[106] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  STAR  OF  S AN GMION— [Continued] 

Of  faith  'mid  increasing  woes, 
Of  wisdom  manifest. 
And,  forth  from  the  variant  past 
Of  thraldom's  darkness,  at  last 
God's  measureless  love  for  man 
Wrought  through  heredity's  dower 
The  great  American, 
Whose  soul  was  the  perfect  flower 
Of  patriot  planting  in  soil 
Kept  moist  by  hlood  and  tears, 
And  fertile  by  faithful  toil 
Throughout  unnumbered  years. 

Kor  accident  nor  chance, 
But  heavenly  ordinance 
Set  his  nativity 
In  ripened  fulness  of  time, 
For  sake  of  a  race  to  be 
The  pledge  of  a  golden  prime. 

In  lowliest  spot  he  breathed 

His  first  sweet  breath  of  the  earth; 

And  life's  great  Parent  bequeathed 

Fair  virginal  ISTature  from  birth 

To  be  his  tutor  and  friend, 

His  youthful  steps  to  attend. 

She  led  o'er  the  wooded  hills 
And  flowering  prairied  vales, 

[107] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  STAR  OF  SANGAMON— [Contmued] 
Along  by  the  summer's  rills, 
Against  the  winter's  gales, 
Through  sweeps  of  primeval  ills. 
Across  the  Red  Men's  trails. 

She  taught  him  the  songs  of  birds, 
The  s^Tupathy-syllabled  words 
Of  water  and  earth  and  air, 
And  pointed  the  winding  stair 
That  leads  to  Heaven,  where  climb 
The  higher  forces  of  time. 

She  bound  him,  that  he  might  feel 
The  weight  of  Oppression's  heel; 
She  starved  him,  that  he  might  learn 
The  hunger  of  souls  that  yearn; 
She  bruised  him,  that  he  might  know 
Somewhat  of  the  world's  great  wo. 

She  helmed  him  with  faith ;  she  placed 
The  girdle  of  strength  at  his  waist; 
And  over  his  breast  she  laid 
The  buckler  of  right ;  the  blade 
Of  truth  she  set  in  his  hand 
And  bade  him  unwavering  stand, 
As  Moses  stood  with  his  rod, 
For  Freedom  and  God. 
At  length  in  a  deathless  hour 
She  kissed  him ;  a  quickening  power 
[108] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  STAR  OF  SANGAMOl^— [Continued] 

Shot  forth  through  her  lips  of  fir® 
In  touch  of  divine  desire. 

One  long  sweet  look  of  review; 

Then  suddenly  from  her  she  threw 

Her  manifold  mantle  of  mystery; 

And,  facing  the  great  Before, 

On  unto  the  famed  door 

That  opens  out  into  history, 

In  radiant  rapture  she  led 

Her  hero  all  panoplied, 

And  thrust  him  from  her  to  be, 

On  mission  immortal  bent, 

Transfigurer  of  despair. 

The  champion  of  Liberty, 

The  hope  of  a  continent, 

God's  answer  to  prayer. 

Lyman  Whitney  Allen 

Th©  above  poem^  and  two  others  in  this  volumej  "The  People's 
King"  and  "Ths  Nation's  Prophet,"  are  from  Dr.  Allen's  poem 
"Abraham  Lincoln,"  for  which  he  was  awarded  the  prize  of  one  thou- 
sand dollars,  by  tha  New  Yorh  Herald,  as  the  best  poem  on  American 
history.  It  was  first  published  in  the  Christmas  issues  of  the  New 
York  Herald,  the  Boston  Herald,  and  the  St.  Louis  Republic,  1895. 

See  Bibliography. 


[109] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

LIXCOLIT  arose!  the  masterful  great  man, 
Girt  with  rude  grandeur,  quelling  doubt  and  fear- 
A  more  than  king,  yet  in  whose  veins  there  ran 
The  red  blood  of  the  people,  warm,  sincere, 
Blending  of  Puritan  and  Cavalier. 

Heney  Tyreell 


[iioi 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

CHAINED  by  stern  duty  to  the  rock  of  State, 
His  spirit  armed  in  mail  of  rugged  mirth, 
Ever  above,  though  ever  near  to  earth, 
Yet  felt  his  heart  the  cruel  tongues  that  sate 

Base  appetites,  and  foul  with  slander,  wait 

Till  the  keen  lightnings  bring  the  awful  hour 
When  wounds  and  suffering  shall  give  them  power. 
Most  was  he  like  to  Luther,  gay  and  great. 

Solemn  and  mirthful,  strong  of  heart  and  limb. 
Tender  and  simple  too;  he  was  so  near 
To  all  things  human  that  he  cast  out  fear, 

And,  ever  simpler,  like  a  little  child. 

Lived  in  unconscious  nearness  unto  Him 
Who  always  on  earth's  little  ones  hath  smiled. 

S.  Weik  Mitchell 


[111] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

THERE  is  no  name  in  all  our  country's  story 
So  loved  as  his  to-day : 
No  name  that  so  unites  the  things  of  glory 
With  life's  plain,  common  way. 

Poor  as  the  poorest  were  his  days'  beginnings, 

The  earth-floored  cabin  home. 
And  yet,   compared  with  his,   our  rich  men's  winnings 

Are  fleeting  as  the  foam. 

His  was  a  tragedy  such  deeps  concealing 

All  eyes  with  his  grow  dim. 
And  his  a  humour  so  sincerely  healing 

The  whole  world  laughs  with  him. 

He  knew  the  doubter's  doubt,  the  restless  heaving 

Of  the  swift  waves  of  youth. 
He  knew  the  calm  of  faith,  the  strong  believing 

Of  him  who  lives  the  truth. 

So  manifold  his  life,  the  great-souled  Lincoln 

Makes  every  life  his  own. 
Therefore  of  all  our  heroes  whom  we  think  on 

He  has  a  place  alone. 

Robert  Whitakee 

[112] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

HIS  was  the  woodsman's  rugged  frame, 
A  knightly  spirit  bold, 
The  simple  ways  and  studious  tastes 

Of  anchorites  of  old. 
His  heart  was  tender  with  a  love 

For  all  humanity; 
He  heard  the  wailing  of  the  slaves 
And  yearned  to  set  them  free. 

l^o  honest  labour  ever  shamed 

His  spirit  sound  and  true; 
That  which  lay  nearest  to  his  hand 

He  never  failed  to  do; 
Through  hardship,  toil  and  bitter  pain 

He  walked,  serenely  brave, 
The  narrow  upward  path  that  led 

To  glory  and  the  grave. 

Though  many  a  year  above  his  dust 

Has  shed  its  suns  and  rains, 
A  pattern  still  for  all  the  world 

His  memory  remains. 
And  laurel  wreath  and  martyr's  crown 

Around  his  name  are  blent, 
And  every  black  he  freed  is  now 

His  living  monument. 

Minna  Ieving 
[113] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

HURT  was  the  nation  with  a  mighty  wound, 
And  all  her  wavs  were  filled  with  elam'rous  sound. 
Wailed  loud  the  South  with  unremitting  grief, 
And  wept  the  North  that  could  not  find  relief. 
Then  madness  joined  its  harshest  tone  to  strife; 
A  minor  note  swelled  in  the  song  of  life 
Till,  stirring  with  the  love  that  filled  his  breast, 
But  still  unflinching  at  the  right's  behest 
Grave  Lincoln  came,  strong-handed,  from  afar, — 
The  mighty  Homer  of  the  lyre  of  war ! 
'Twas  he  who  bade  the  raging  tempest  cease, 
Wrenched  from  his  harp  the  harmony  of  peace. 
Muted  the  strings  that  made  the  discord, — ^Wrong, 
And  gave  his  spirit  up  in  thund'rous  song. 
Oh,  mighty  Master  of  the  mighty  lyre! 
Earth  heard  and  trembled  at  thy  strains  of  fire: 
Earth  learned  of  thee  what  Heav'n  already  knew, 
And  wrote  thee  down  among  her  treasured  few! 

Paul  Laueence  Dunbae 


[114] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

YON  red  orb,  in  fame's  azure  hung, 
Is  Alexander's;  flushed  and  young, 
The  Sword  of  Macedon 
In  world-wars  long  agone. 

Beyond  it,  poised  where  no  clouds  are, 
Flashes,  alone,  the  cold  keen  star 
Of  Caesar,  where  it  clomb 
High  over  seven-hilled  Rome; 

Shine  next,  as  naked  greatness  can, 
The  rival  lights  of  Charlemagne 
And  that  fair  Saxon  king 
Who  knew  no  wicked  thing. 

Brave  stars,  against  the  darkness  bold 
Shine  for  the  mighty  men  of  old, 
Who,  as  the  strength  was  given, 
Leapt  into  memory's  heaven. 

But  he  that  never  thought  to  climb. 
Our  crownless  king,  of  later  time. 
Who  walked  the  humble  way. 
Coming  as  comes  the  day : 


[115] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN—  [  Continiied] 

He  that,  for  kings  and  princes  all, 
Would  once  more  read  the  mystic  wall, — 
Spell  out,  there,  what  was  meant 
Whereso  the  Finger  went; 

He  that,  over  the  anvil  lowered. 

Would  beat  the  ploughshare  from  the  sword, 

Lest  peace  from  man  depart. 

Yea,  hope  from  out  his  heart; — 

Earth  held  to  him.     The  rough-hewn  form. 
Looming  through  that  unnatural  storm, 
Hinted  the  rude,  mixed  mould 
Ere  chaos  loosed  her  hold ; 

A  lone,  wind-beaten,  hill-top  tree, 
His  that  pathetic  majesty; 
Eorlorn  even  in  his  mirth. 
His  roots  deep  in  the  earth. 

Earth's  is  he  yet.     When  from  the  hill 
The  warm  gold  flows,  and  hollows  fill, 
The  sunlight  shines  his  fame. 
The  winds  blaze  Lincoln's  name. 

Ay,  Earth's  he  is ;  not  hers  alone — 
Blood  of  our  blood,  bone  of  our  bone. 
Love  folded  him  to  rest 
Upon  a  people's  breast. 

John  Vance  Cheney 

[116] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

CHILD  of  the  boundless  prairie,   son  of  the  virgin 
soil, 
Heir  to  the  bearing  of  burdens,  brother  to  them  that  toil ; 
God  and  !N^ature  together  shaped  him  to  lead  in  the  van, 
In  the  stress  of  her  wildest  weather  when  the  N^ation 
needed  a  Man. 

Eyes  of  a  smouldering  fire,  heart  of  a  lion  at  bay. 
Patience  to  plan  for  to-morrow,  valour  to  serve  for  to-day, 
Mournful  and  mirthful  and  tender,  quick  as  a  flash  with  a 

jest. 
Hiding  with  gibe  and  great  laughter,  the  ache  that  was 

dull  in  his  breast ! 

Met  were  the  Man  and  the  Hour — Man  who  was  strong 

for  the  shock — 
Fierce  were  the  lightnings  unleashed;  in  the  midst,  he 

stood  fast  as  a  rock. 
Comrade  he  was  and  commander  he,  who  was  meant  for 

the  time. 
Iron  in  council  and  action,  simple,  aloof,  and  sublime. 

Swift  slip  the  years  from  their  tether,  centuries  pass  like 

a  breath, 
Only  some  lives  are  immortal,  challenging  darkness  and 

death. 

[117] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN— [ConfinMed] 

Hewn  from  the  stuff  of  the  martyrs,  wi'ite  in  the  star- 
dust  his  name, 

Glowing,  untarnished,  transcendent,  high  on  the  records 
of  Fame. 

Makgaret  E.  Sangstek 


[118] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  PEOPLE'S  KING 

NOT  oft  such  marvel  the  years  reveal, 
Such  beauteous  thing, 
A  People's  King, 
The  chosen  liege  of  a  chosen  weal, 
And  Liberty's  offering. 

^Not  oft  such  product  the  fair  world  hath, 

A  People's  Own, 

On  mightiest  throne, 
Whose  strong  foundations  are  Right  and  Faith, 

And  virtue  the  corner-stone. 

"Not  by  earth's  bounty  was  he  prepared; 

Not  princely  store 

!N^or  golden  lore 
Was  nurture  on  which  his  nature  fared 

For  strength  in  the  trust  he  bore; 

But  inner  largess  of  revenue, 

Past  time  and  space, 

The  fruits  of  gi-ace, 
That  mellowed  upon  the  tree  which  grew 

God's  food  for  a  famished  race. 

[119] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  PEOPLE'S  KING— [Continued] 

In  history's  mirror  he  truly  saw 

The  ages'  strife, 

With  passion  rife, 
'Neath  covenant  promise  a  changeless  law 

Writ  clear  in  its  serial  life. 

He  learned  from  the  centuries'  battle-fields 

What  heroes  are, 

How  maim  and  scar 
Are  gloried  trophies  to  him  who  yields 

Himself  to  the  shocks  of  war; 

That  patriot  sires  have  taught  their  sons, 

Since  days  of  eld, 

How  Truth  is  held. 
And  Justice  fashions  a  nation's  guns 

Never  to  be  repelled. 

Thus  was  it  a  purpose  for  valiant  deeds, 

Like  whitening  flame. 

Through  all  his  frame 
Swept  burning  until  his  Country's  needs 

His  one  great  thought  became. 

Thus  was  it  he  took  in  his  sovereign  hand, 

With  face  to  Fate, 

The  orb  of  state, 
To  serve  his  Country  and  God,  and  stand 

To  them  all  consecrate. 

Lyman  Whitney  Allen 
[120] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

WE  mark  the  lowly  place  where  he  was  born, 
We  try  to  dream  the  dreams  that  starred  his  nights 
When  the  rude  path  that  ran  beside  the  corn 

Grew  to  a  fair  broad  way  which  found  the  heights ; 
We  try  to  sense  the  lonely  days  he  knew, 

The  silences  that  wrapped  about  his  soul 
When  there  came  whispers  tremulous  and  true 
Which  urged  him  up  and  onward  to  his  goal. 


His  was  the  dream-filled  world  of  friendly  trees; 

And  marvel  reaches  of  the  prairie  lands; 
The  brotherhood  of  fields,  and  birds,  and  bees, 

Which  magnifies  the  soul  that  understands; 
His  was  the  school  of  unremitting  toil 

Whose  lessons  leave  an  impress  strong  and  deep; 
His  were  the  thoughts  of  one  close  to  the  soil, 

The  knowledge  of  the  ones  who  sow  and  reap. 


And  all  of  this,  and  from  all  this  he  rose 

Full  panoplied,  when  came  his  country's  call, 

Strong-hearted  and  strong-framed  to  bear  the  woes 
Which  fell  on  him  the  bitterest  of  all. 

[121] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN—  [  Continuedl 

And  well  be  wrought,  and  wisely  well  lie  knew 

The  strain  and  stress  that  should  be  bis  alone; 


He  did  the  lono;  task  set  for  him  to  do — 


^t3 


This  man  who  came  unfavoured  and  unknown. 

We  look  to-day,  not  through  Grief's  mist  of  tears, 

IsTot  through  glamour  of  nearness  to  the  great, 
But  down  the  long,  long  corridor  of  years 

Where  stand  the  sentinels  of  Fame  and  Fate, 
And  now  we  see  him,  whom  men  called  uncouth, 

Grown  wondrous  fair  beneath  the  hand  of  Time, 
And  know  the  love  of  liberty  and  truth 

Brings  immortality,  and  makes  sublime. 

But,  O,  this  rugged  face  with  kindly  eyes 

Wherein  a  haunting  sorrow  ever  stays ! 
Somehow  it  seems  that  through  the  sorrow  rise 

The  echoed  visions  of  his  other  days, 
That  still  we  may  in  subtle  fancy  trace 

The  light  that  led  him  with  prophetic  gleams — ■ 
That  here  we  gaze  upon  the  pictured  face 

Of  one  who  was  a  boy  that  lived  his  dreams ! 

WiLBUE  D.  Nesbit 


[122] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  NATION'S  PROPHET 

THE  hour  was  come,  and  with  it  rose  the  man 
Ordained  of  God  and  fashioned  for  the  hour ; 
The  saviour  of  a  race; 
For  whom  wrought  ever,  since  the  world  began. 
The  subtle  energies  of  thought  and  power 
In  lineal  lines  of  grace. 

Incarnate  Conscience ;  Eight's  embodiment ; 
Benignant  Nature's  generous  bequest 
In  mind  and  feature  writ; 
Life's  lore  and  legends  into  wisdom  blent; 

Past  verities  to  present  truth  compressed; 
The  People's  composite. 

A  master-soul  was  his  that  gazing  saw 

The  refluent  tide  of  battle,  felt  the  fires 
That  swept  all  withering; 
A  master-soul,  set  to  a  higher  law, 

That  heard  above  the  Earth's  despairing,  quires 
Of  heavenly  promise  sing. 

Lyman  Whitney  Allen 


[123] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINXOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

THIS  man  whose  homely  face  you  look  upon 
Was  one  of  ISTature's  masterful,  gi-eat  men ; 
Born  with  strong  arms,  that  unf ought  battles  won; 
Direct  of  speech,  and  cunning  with  the  pen. 
Chosen  for  large  designs,  he  had  the  art 
Of  winning  with  his  humour,  and  he  went 
Straight  to  his  mark,  which  was  the  human  heart; 
Wise,  too,  for  what  he  could  not  break  he  bent. 
Upon  his  back  a  more  than  Atlas-load 
The  burden  of  the  Commonwealth,  was  laid; 
He  stooped,  and  rose  up  to  it,  though  the  road 
Shot  suddenly  downwards,  not  a  whit  dismayed: 
Patiently  resolute,  what  the  stern  hour 
Demanded,  that  he  was, — that  Man,  that  Power. 

Richard  Henky  Stoddard 


[124] 


V.     GETTYSBURG  ODE 


"It  is  rather  for  us  to  he  here  dedicated  to  the  great 
task  remaming  before  us — that  from  these  honoured  dead 
we  take  increased  devotion  to  that  cause  for  which  they 
gave  the  last  full  meoMure  of  devotion." 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


(GETTYSBURG  ODE 

Dedication  of  the  National  Monument,  July  1,  1869 

AFTER  the  eyes  that  looked,  the  lips  that  spake 
Here,  from  the  shadows  of  impending  death, 
Those  words  of  solemn  breath, 
What  voice  may  fitly  break 
The  silence,  doubly  hallowed,  left  by  him? 
We  can  but  bow  the  head,  with  eyes  grown  dim, 

And,  as  a  Nation's  litany,  repeat 
The  phrase  his  martyrdom  hath  made  complete, 
IN'oble  as  then,  but  now  more  sadly-sweet: 
"Let  us,  the  Living,  rather  dedicate 
Ourselves  to  the  unfinished  work,  which  they 
Thus  far  advanced  so  nobly  on  its  way, 
And  save  the  perilled  State! 
Let  us,  upon  this  field  where  they,  the  brave. 
Their  last  full  measure  of  devotion  gave, 
Highly  resolve  they  have  not  died  in  vain! — 
That,  under  God,  the  ISTation's  later  birth 

Of  Freedom,  and  the  people's  gain 
Of  their  own  Sovereignty,  shall  never  wane 
And  perish  from  the  circle  of  the  earth !" 
From  such  a  perfect  text,  shall  Song  aspire 
To  light  her  faded  fire, 

[127] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


GETTYSBURG  OT>E— [Continued'] 

And  into  wandering  music  turn 
Its  virtue,  simple,  sorrowful,  and  stern? 
His  voice  all  elegies  anticipated ; 

For,  whatsoe'er  the  strain. 

We  hear  that  one  refrain : 
"We  consecrate  ourselves  to  them,  the  Consecrated!" 

After  the  thunder-storm  our  heaven  is  blue: 
Far-off,  along  the  borders  of  the  sky. 
In  silver  folds  the  clouds  of  battle  lie. 

With  soft,  consoling  sunlight  shining  through; 

And  round  the  sweeping  circle  of  your  hills 
The  crashing  cannon-thrills 

Have  faded  from  the  memory  of  the  air; 

And  Summer  pours  from  unexhausted  fountains 
Her  bliss  on  yonder  mountains: 

The  camps  are  tenantless,  the  breastworks  bare : 

Earth  keeps  no  stain  where  hero-blood  was  poured : 
The  hornets,  humming  on  their  wings  of  lead, 
Have  ceased  to  sting,  their  angry  swarms  are  dead. 

And,  harmless  in  its  scabbard,  rusts  the  sword! 

O,  not  till  now, — O  now  we  dare,  at  last. 
To  give  our  heroes  fitting  consecration! 

Not  till  the  soreness  of  the  strife  is  past. 

And  Peace  hath  comforted  the  weary  Nation ! 

So  long  her  sad,  indignant  spirit  held 

One  keen  regret,  one  throb  of  pain,  unquelled ; 
[128] 


STATUE    OF    ABRAHAM    LINCOLN    BY    DANIKL    CUKSTER    FRENCH 
ON   THE   STATE    CAPITOL   GROUNDS,   LINCOLN,    NEBRASKA 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


GETTYSBURG  ODE— [Continued] 

So  long  the  land  about  her  feet  was  waste, 

The  ashes  of  the  burning  lay  upon  her. 
We  stood  beside  their  gi-aves  with  brows  abased, 

Waiting  the  purer  mood  to  do  them  honour! 
They,  through  the  flames  of  this  dread  holocaust. 
The  patriot's  wrath,  the  soldier's  ardour  lost: 
They  sit  above  us  and  above  our  passion, 

.Disparaged  even  by  our  human  tears, — 
Beholding  truth  our  race,  perchance,  may  fashion 

In  the  slow  process  of  the  creeping  years. 
We  saw  the  still  reproof  upon  their  faces; 
We  heard  them  whisper  from  the  shining  spaces: 
"To-day  ye  grieve :  come  not  to  us  with  sorrow ! 
Wait  for  the  glad,  the  reconciled  To-morrow! 
Your  grief  but  clouds  the  ether  where  we  dwell; 

Your  anger  keeps  your  souls  and  ours  apart : 
But  come  with  peace  and  pardon,  all  is  well! 

And  come  with  love,  we  touch  you,  heart  to  heart!" 


Immortal  Brothers,  we  have  heard! 
Our  lips  declare  the  reconciling  word : 
For  Battle  taught,  that  set  us  face  to  face, 

The  stubborn  temper  of  the  race. 
And  both,  from  fields  no  longer  alien,  come, 

To  grander  action  equally  invited, — 
Marshalled  by  Learning's  trump,  by  Labour's  drum. 

In  strife  that  purifies  and  makes  united! 

[129] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


GETTYSBURG  ODE— [Continued] 

We  force  to  build,  the  powers  that  would  destroy ; 
The  muscles,  hardened  by  the  sabre's  grasp, 

Now  give  our  hands  a  firmer  clasp : 
We  bring  not  grief  to  you,  but  solemn  joy ! 

And,  feeling  you  so  near, 
Look  forward  with  your  eyes,  divinely  clear, 
To  some  sublimely-perfect,  sacred  year, 
When  sons  of  fathers  whom  ye  overcame 
Forget  in  mutual  pride  the  partial  blame, 
And  join  with  us,  to  set  the  final  crown 

Upon  your  dear  renown, — 
The  People's  Union  in  heart  and  name! 

And  yet,  ye  Dead! — and  yet 
Our  clouded  natures  cling  to  one  regret: 
We  are  not  all  resigned 
To  yield,  with  even  mind. 
Our  scarcely-risen  stars,  that  here  untimely  set. 
We  needs  must  think  of  History  that  waits 

For  lines  that  live  but  in  their  proud  beginning, — 
Arrested  promises  and  cheated  fates, — 

Youth's  boundless  venture  and  its  single  winning ! 
We  see  the  ghosts  of  deeds  they  might  have  done, 

The  phantom  homes  that  beaconed  their  endeavour; 
The  seeds  of  countless  lives  in  them  begun, 

That  might  have  multiplied  for  us  forever ! 
We  grudge  the  better  strain  of  men 
That  proved  itself,  and  was  extinguished  then — 

[130] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


GETTYSBURG  ODE— [Continued] 

The  field,  with  strength  and  hope  so  thickly  sown, 
Wherefrom  no  other  harvest  shall  be  mown: 
For  all  the  land,  within  its  clasping  seas, 

Is  poorer  now  in  bravery  and  beauty, 
Such  wealth  of  manly  loves  and  energies 
Was  given  to  teach  us  all  the  freeman's  sacred  duty ! 


Again  'tis  they,  the  Dead, 

By  whom  our  hearts  are  comforted. 
Deep  as  the  land-blown  murmurs  of  the  waves 
The  answer  cometh  from  a  thousand  graves: 

"Not  so !  we  are  not  orphaned  by  our  fate ! 
Though  life  were  warmest,  and  though  love  were  sweetest. 
We  still  have  portion  in  their  best  estate: 

Our  fortune  is  the  fairest  and  completest! 
Our  homes  are  everywhere:  our  loves  are  set 

In  hearts  of  man  and  woman,  sweet  and  vernal : 
Courage  and  Truth,  the  children  we  beget, 

Unmixed  of  baser  earth,  shall  be  eternal. 
A  finer  spirit  in  the  blood  shall  give 
The  token  of  the  lines  wherein  we  live, — 
Unselfish  force,  unconscious  nobleness 

That  in  the  shocks  of  fortune  stands  unshaken, — 
The  hopes  that  in  their  very  being  bless, 

The  aspirations  that  to  deeds  awaken! 
If  aught  of  finer  virtue  ye  allow 

To  us,  that  faith  alone  its  like  shall  win  you ; 

[131] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


GETTYSBUEG  OD^—[Contmued] 

So,  trust  like  ours  shall  ever  lift  the  brow ; 

And  strength  like  ours  shall  ever  steel  the  sinew! 
We  are  the  blossoms  which  the  storm  has  cast 
From  the  Spring  promise  of  our  Freedom's  tree, 
Pruning  its  overgrowths,  that  so,  at  last. 

Its  later  fruit  more  bountiful  shkll  be ! — 
Content,  if,  when  the  balm  of  Time  assuages 
The  branch's  hurt,  some  fragrance  of  our  lives 

In  all  the  land  survives, 
And  makes  their  memory  sweet  through  still  expanding 
ages !" 

Thus  grandly,  they  we  mourn,  themselves  console  us ; 

And,  as  their  spirits  conquer  and  control  us. 

We  hear,  from  some  high  realm  that  lies  beyond, 

The  hero-voices  of  the  Past  respond. 

From  every  State  that  reached  a  broader  right 

Through  fiery  gates  of  battle;  from  the  shock 

Of  old  invasions  on  the  People's  rock ; 

From  tribes  that  stood,  in  Kings'  and  Priests'  despite ; 

From  graves  forgotten  in  the  Syrian  sknd. 

Or  nameless  barrows  of  the  Northern  strand. 

Or  gorges  of  the  Alps  and  Pyrenees, 

Or  the  dark  bowels  of  devouring  seas, — 

Wherever  Man  for  Man's  sake  died, — wherever 

Death  stayed  the  march  of  upward-climbing  feet, 

Leaving  their  Present  incomplete. 
But  through  far  Futures  crowning  their  endeavour, — 

[132] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


GETTYSBURG  OB'S— [Continued] 

Their  ghostly  voices  to  our  ears  are  sent, 
As  when  the  high  note  of  a  trumpet  wrings 

^olian  answers  from  the  strings 
Of  many  a  mute,  unfingered  instrument! 
Platsean  cymbals  thrill  for  us  to-day ; 
The  horns  of  Sempach  in  our  echoes  play, 
And  nearer  yet,  and  sharper,  and  more  stern. 
The  slogan  rings  that  startled  Bannockburn; 
Till  from  the  field,  made  green  with  kindred  deed, 

The  shields  are  clashed  in  exultation 
Above  the  dauntless  l^ation, 
That  for  a  Continent  has  fought  its  Eunnymede! 


Aye,  for  a  Continent!     The  heart  that  beats 

With  such  rich  blood  of  sacrifice 
Shall,  from  the  Tropics,  drowsed  with  languid  heats. 

To  the  blue  ramparts  of  the  Northern  ice. 
Make  felt  its  pulses,  all  this  young  world  over ! — 
Shall  thrill,  and  shake,  and  sway 
Each  land  that  bourgeons  in  the  Western  day. 
Whatever  flag  may  float,  whatever  shield  may  cover ! 
With  fuller  manhood  every  wind  is  rife. 

In  every  soil  are  sown  the  seeds  of  valour; 
Since  out  of  death  came  forth  such  boundless  life. 
Such  ruddy  beauty  out  of  anguished  pallor ! 
And  that  first  deed,  along  the  Southern  wave. 
Spoiled  not  the  sister-land,  but  lent  an  arm  to  save! 

[133] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


GETTYSBURG  ODE— [Continued] 

!Now,  in  her  seat  secure, 
Where  distant  menaces  no  more  can  reach  her, 

Our  land,  in  undivided  freedom  pure. 
Becomes  the  unwilling  world's  unconscious  teacher; 
And,  day  by  day,  beneath  serener  skies, 
The  unshaken  pillars  of  her  palace  rise, — 
The  Doric  shafts,  that  lightly  upward  press, 
And  hide  in  grace  their  giant  massiveness. 
And    what    though    the    sword   has    hewn    each    corner- 
stone. 

And  precious  blood  cements  the  deep  foundation ! 
Never  by  other  force  have  empires  grown; 

From  other  basis  never  rose  a  nation! 
For  strength  is  born  of  struggle,  faith  of  doubt, 

Of  discord  law,  and  freedom  of  oppression: 
We  hail  from  Pisgah,  with  exulting  shout. 
The  Promised  Land  below  us,  bright  with  sun, 

And  deem  its  pastures  won, 
Ere  toil  and  blood  have  earned  us  their  possession ! 
Each  aspiration  of  our  human  earth 
Becomes  an  act  through  keenest  pangs  of  birth ; 
Each  force,  to  bless,  must  cease  to  be  a  dream. 
And  conquer  life  through  agony  supreme; 
Each  inborn  right  must  outwardly  be  tested 

By  stern  material  weapons,  ere  it  stand 

In  the  enduring  fabric  of  the  land, 
Secured  for  these  who  yielded  it,  and  those  who  wrested ! 

[134] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


GETTYSBURG  OD'E— [Continued] 

This  they  have  done  for  us  who  slumber  here, — 

Awake,  alive,  though  now  so  dumbly  sleeping; 
Spreading  the  board,  but  tasting  not  its  cheer, 

Sowing,  but  never  reaping; — 
Building,  but  never  sitting  in  the  shade 
Of  the  strong  mansion  they  have  made; — 
Speaking  their  word  of  life  with  mighty  tongue, 
But  hearing  not  the  echo,  million-voiced, 

Of  brothers  who  rejoiced. 
From  all  our  river  vales  and  mountains  flung! 
So  take  them,  Heroes  of  the  songful  Past ! 
Open  your  ranks,  let  every  shining  troop 

Its  phantom  banners  droop. 

To  hail  Earth's  noblest  martyrs,  and  her  last! 

Take  them,  O  Fatherland! 

Who,  dying,  conquered  in  thy  name; 

And,  with  a  grateful  hand, 
Inscribe  their  deed  who  took  away  thy  blame, — 
Give,  for  their  grandest  all,  thine  insufficient  fame! 
Take  them,  O  God!  our  Brave, 
The  glad  fulfillers  of  Thy  dread  decree ; 
Who  grasped  the  sword  for  Peace,  and  smote  to  save, 
And,  dying  here  for  Freedom,  also  died  for  Thee ! 

Bayard  Taylor 


[135] 


VI.     LINCOLN  MOURNED 


"And  you,  the  soldiers  of  our  wars, 
Bronzed  veterans,  grim  with  noble  scars. 
Salute  him  once  again. 
Your  late  commander — slain l" 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  DEATH  OF  LINCOLN 

OH,  slow  to  smite  and  swift  to  spare, 
Gentle  and  merciful  and  just ! 
Who,  in  tlie  fear  of  God,  didst  bear 

The  sword  of  power,  a  nation's  trust! 

In  sorrow  by  thy  bier  we  stand. 

Amid  the  awe  that  hushes  all, 
And  speak  the  anguish  of  a  land 

That  shook  with  horror  at  thy  fall. 

Thy  task  is  done ;  the  bond  are  free : 

We  bear  thee  to  an  honoured  grave, 

Whose  proudest  monument  shall  be 
The  broken  fetters  of  the  slave. 

Pure  was  thy  life;  its  bloody  close 

Hath  placed  thee  with  the  sons  of  light, 

Among  the  noble  host  of  those 

Wlio  perished  in  the  cause  of  Right. 

William  Cullen  Bkyant 


[139] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

Assassinated  Good  Friday,  1865 

FORGIVE  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do!" 
He  said,  and  so  went  shriven  to  his  fate, — 
Unknowing  went,  that  generous  heart  and  true. 

Even  while  he  spoke  the  slayer  lay  in  wait, 

And  when  the  morning  opened  Heaven's  gate 
There  passed  the  whitest  soul  a  nation  knew. 

Henceforth  all  thoughts  of  pardon  are  too  late; 
They,  in  whose  cause  that  arm  its  weapon  drew. 

Have  murdered  Mercy.     Now  alone  shall  stand 
Blind  Justice,  with  the  sword  unsheathed  she  wore. 

Hark,  from  the  eastern  to  the  western  strand, 
The  swelling  thunder  of  the  people's  roar : 

What  words  they  murmur, — Fetter  not  her  hand ! 
So  let  it  smite ;  such  deeds  shall  be  no  more ! 

Edmund  Claeence  Stedmais' 


[140] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  DEAD  PRESIDENT 

WERE  there  no  crowns  on  earth, 
No  evergreen  to  weave  a  hero's  wreath, 
That  he  must  pass  beyond  the  gates  of  death, 
Our  hero,  our  slain  hero,  to  be  crowned  ? 
Could  there  on  our  unworthy  earth  be  found 
^Naught  to  befit  his  worth? 

The  noblest  soul  of  all ! 
When  was  there  ever,  since  our  Washington, 
A  man  so  pure,  so  wise,  so  patient — one 
Who  walked  with  this  high  goal  alone  in  sight. 
To  speak,  to  do,  to  sanction  only  Right, 

Though  very  heaven  should  fall! 

Ah,  not  for  him  we  weep; 
What  honour  more  could  be  in  store  for  him? 
Who  would  have  had  him  linger  in  our  dim 
And    troublesome    world,    when    his    great    work    was 

done — 
Who  would  not  leave  that  worn  and  weary  one 

Gladly  to  go  to  sleep  ? 

For  us  the  stroke  was  just ; 
We  were  not  worthy  of  that  patient  heart; 

[141] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  DEAD  PRESIDENT— [Con fmucrf] 

We  might  have  helped  him  more,  not  stood  apart, 
And  coldly  criticised  his  works  and  ways — 
Too  late  now,  all  too  late — our  little  praise 
Sounds  hollow  o'er  his  dust. 

Be  merciful,  O  our  God ! 
Forgive  the  meanness  of  our  human  hearts, 
That  never,  till  a  noble  soul  departs, 
See  half  the  worth,  or  hear  the  angel's  wings 
Till  they  go  rustling  heavenward  as  he  springs 

Up  from  the  mounded  sod. 

Yet  what  a  deathless  crown 
Of  Northern  pine  and  Southern  orange-flower, 
For  victory,  and  the  land's  new  bridal  hour. 
Would  we  have  wreathed  for  that  beloved  brow ! 
Sadly  upon  his  sleeping  forehead  now 

We  lay  our  cypress  down. 

O  martvred  one,  farewell! 
Thou  hast  not  left  thy  people  quite  alone. 
Out  of  thy  beautiful  life  there  comes  a  tone 
Of  power,  of  love,  of  trust,  a  prophecy. 
Whose  fair  fulfilment  all  the  earth  shall  be. 

And  all  the  future  tell. 

Edwakd  Rowland  Sill 


[142] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

LINCOLjN"!     When  men  would  name  a  man, 
Just,  unperturbed,  magnanimous, 
Tried  in  the  lowest  seat  of  all, 

Tried  in  the  chief  seat  of  the  house — 

Lincoln!     When  men  would  name  a  man 

Who  wrought  the  great  work  of  his  age, 
Who  fought  and  fought  the  noblest  fight, 

And  marshalled  it  from  stage  to  stage, 

yietorious,  out  of  dusk  and  dark, 

And  into  dawn  and  on  till  day. 
Most  humble  when  the  pseans  rang. 

Least  rigid  when  the  enemy  lay 

Prostrated  for  his  feet  to  tread — 

This  name  of  Lincoln  will  they  name, 
A  name  revered,  a  name  of  scorn. 
Of  scorn  to  sundry,  not  to  fame. 

Lincoln,  the  man  who  freed  the  slave; 

Lincoln,  whom  never  self  enticed; 
Slain  Lincoln,  worthy  found  to  die 

A  soldier  of  his  Captain,  Christ. 

Anonymous 

Macmillan's  Magazine, 
London,  1865. 

[143] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


N 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

An  H oration  Ode 

OT  as  when  some  great  Captain  falls 
In  battle,  where  his  Country  calls, 
Beyond  the  struggling  lines 
That  push  his  dread  designs 


To  doom,  by  some  stray  ball  struck  dead : 
Or,  in  the  last  charge,  at  the  head 
Of  his  determined  men. 
Who  must  be  victors  then. 

iNTor  as  when  sink  the  civic  great, 
The  safer  pillars  of  the  State, 

Whose  calm,  mature,  wise  words 
Suppress  the  need  of  swords. 

With  no  such  tears  as  e'er  were  shed 
Above  the  noblest  of  our  dead 
Do  we  to-day  deplore 
The  Man  that  is  no  more. 

Our  sorrow  hath  a  wider  scope, 
Too  strange  for  fear,  too  vast  for  hope, 
A  wonder,  blind  and  dumb, 
That  waits — what  is  to  come! 
[144] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN— [Corefmwed] 

IsTot  more  astounded  had  we  been 
If  Madness,  that  dark  night,  unseen, 
Had  in  our  chambers  crept. 
And  murdered  while  we  slept ! 

We  woke  to  find  a  mourning  earth, 
Our  Lares  shivered  on  the  hearth. 
The  roof -tree  fallen,  all 
That  could  affright,  appal ! 

Such  thunderbolts,  in  other  lands. 
Have  smitten  the  rod  from  royal  hands, 
But  spared,  with  us,  till  now, 
Each  laurelled  C£Esar's  brow. 

]STo  Csesar  he  whom  we  lament, 
A  Man  without  a  precedent. 

Sent,  it  would  seem,  to  do 

His  work,  and  perish,  too. 

Not  by  the  weary  cares  of  State, 

The  endless  tasks,  which  will  not  wait, 

Which,  often  done  in  vain. 

Must  yet  be  done  again : 

Not  in  the  dark,  wild  tide  of  war. 
Which  rose  so  high,  and  rolled  so  far. 

Sweeping  from  sea  to  sea 

In  awful  anarchy: 

[145] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABR.UIAM  LI^TOLX—  [  Con tinued] 

Four  fateful  years  of  mortal  strife, 
Which  slowly  drained  the  nation's  life, 
(Yet  for  each  drop  that  ran 
There  sprang  an  armed  man!) 

ITot  then ;  but  when,  by  measures  meet. 

By  victory,  and  by  defeat, 

By  courage,  patience,  skill, 
The  people's  fixed  "Fe  Wilir 

Had  pierced,  had  crushed  Rebellion  dead, 
Without  a  hand,  without  a  head, 

At  last,  when  all  was  well, 

He  fell,  O  how  he  fell! 

The  time,  the  place,  the  stealing  shape. 
The  coward  shot,  the  swift  escape, 

The  wife,  the  widow's  scream — 

It  is  a  hideous  dream ! 

A  dream !    What  means  this  pageant,  then  ? 

These  multitudes  of  solemn  men. 
Who  speak  not  when  they  meet, 
But  throng  the  silent  street? 

The  flags  half-mast  that  late  so  high 
Flaunted  at  each  new  victory? 
(The  stars  no  brightness  shed. 
But  bloody  looks  the  red!) 
[146] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LUSTCOLX— [C(m<mt<erf] 

The  black  festoons  that  stretch  for  miles, 
And  turn  the  streets  to  funeral  aisles  ? 
(Xo  house  too  poor  to  show 
The  nation's  badge  of  wo.) 

The  cannon's  sudden,  sullen  boom, 
The  bells  that  toll  of  death  and  doom, 
The  rolling  of  the  drums, 
The  dreadful  car  that  comes  ? 

Cursed  be  the  hand  that  fired  the  shot. 
The  frenzied  brain  that  hatched  the  plot, 
Thy  Country's  Father  slain 
By  thee,  thou  worse  than  Cain ! 

Tyrants  have  fallen  by  such  as  thou. 
And  good  hath  followed — may  it  now ! 

(God  lets  bad  instruments 

Produce  the  best  events.) 

But  he,  the  man  we  mourn  to-day, 
1^0  tyi'ant  was :  so  mild  a  sway 

In  one  such  weight  who  bore 

Was  never  known  before. 

Cool  should  he  be,  of  balanced  powers. 

The  ruler  of  a  race  like  ours. 

Impatient,  headstrong,  wild, 
The  Man  to  guide  the  Child, 

[147] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN— [Continued] 

And  this  he  was,  who  most  unfit 
(So  hard  the  sense  of  God  to  hit) 

Did  seem  to  fill  his  place. 

With  such  a  homely  face, 

Such  rustic  manners,  speech  uncouth, 
(That  somehow  blundered  out  the  truth) 
Untried,  untrained  to  hear 
The  more  than  kingly  care. 

Ay !     And  his  genius  put  to  scorn 
The  proudest  in  the  purple  born, 
Whose  wisdom  never  gTew 
To  what,  untaught,  he  knew, 

The  People,  of  whom  he  was  one. 

Ko  gentleman,  like  Washing-ton 

(Whose  bones,  methinks,  make  room, 
To  have  him  in  their  tomb ! ) 

A  labouring  man,  with  horny  hands, 
Who  swung  the  axe,  who  tilled  his  lands, 

Who  shrank  from  nothing  new, 

But  did  as  poor  men  do. 

One  of  the  People !     Born  to  be 

Their  curious  epitome; 

To  share  yet  rise  above 
Their  shifting  hate  and  love. 
[148] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LmCOLN— [Continued] 

Common  his  mind  (it  seemed  so  then) 
His  thoughts  the  thoughts  of  other  men: 

Plain  were  his  words,  and  poor, 

But  now  they  will  endure ! 

liTo  hasty  fool,  of  stubborn  will, 
But  prudent,  cautious,  pliant  still; 

Who  since  his  work  was  good 

Would  do  it  as  he  could. 

Doubting,  was  not  ashamed  to  doubt, 
And,  lacking  prescience,  went  without: 
Often  appeared  to  halt. 
And  was,  of  course,  at  fault; 

Heard  all  opinions,  nothing  loath, 
And,  loving  both  sides,  angered  both : 
Was — not  like  Justice,  blind, 
But  watchful,  clement,  kind. 

iN'o  hero  this  of  Roman  mould, 
IsTor  like  our  stately  sires  of  old: 
Perhaps  he  was  not  great. 
But  he  preserved  the  State! 

O  honest  face,  which  all  men  knew! 
O  tender  heart,  but  known  to  few ! 

O  wonder  of  the  age. 

Cut  off  by  tragic  rage! 

[149] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LmCOLN— [Continued] 

Peace!     Let  the  long  procession  come, 
Foi';,  hark,  the  mournful,  muffled  drum, 
The  trumpet's  wail  afar. 
And  see,  the  awful  car! 

Peace !     Let  the  sad  procession  go. 
While  cannon  boom  and  bells  toll  slow. 

And  go,  thou  sacred  car, 

Bearing  our  wo  afar ! 

Go,  darkly  borne,  from  State  to  State, 
Whose  loyal,  sorrowing  cities  wait 
To  honour  all  they  can 
The  dust  of  that  good  man. 

Go,  grandly  borne,  with  such  a  train 
As  greatest  kings  might  die  to  gain. 
The  just,  the  wise,  the  brave, 
Attend  thee  to  the  grave. 

And  you,  the  soldiers  of  our  wars, 
Bronzed  veterans,  grim  with  noble  scars. 
Salute  him  once  again. 
Your  late  commander — slain ! 

Yes,  let  your  tears  indignant  fall. 
But  leave  your  muskets  on  the  wall ; 
Your  country  needs  you  now 
Beside  the  foree — the  plough. 
[150] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LmCOLN— [Continued] 

(When  Justice  shall  unsheathe  her  brand, 
If  Mercy  may  not  stay  her  hand, 

Nor  would  we  have  it  so, 

She  must  direct  the  blow.) 

And  you,  amid  the  master-race, 
Who  seem  so  strangely  out  of  place. 

Know  ye  who  cometh?     He 

Who  hath  declared  ye  free. 

Bow  while  the  body  passes — nay, 
Fall  on  your  knees  and  weep,  and  pray ! 
Weep,  weep — I  would  ye  might — 
Your  poor  black  faces  white! 

And,  children,  you  must  come  in  bands. 
With  garlands  in  your  little  hands, 

Of  blue  and  white  and  red, 

To  strew  before  the  dead. 

So  sweetly,  sadly,  sternly  goes 
The  Fallen  to  his  last  repose. 

Beneath  no  mighty  dome, 

But  in  his  modest  home; 

The  churchyard  where  his  children  rest, 
The  quiet  spot  that  suits  him  best, 

There  shall  his  grave  be  made. 

And  there  his  bones  be  laid 

[151] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN— [Con<in«e(Z] 

And  there  his  countrymen  shall  come, 
With  memory  proud,  with  pity  dumb, 

And  strangers  far  and  near, 

For  many  and  many  a  year. 

For  many  a  year  and  many  an  age, 
While  History  on  her  ample  page 

The  virtues  shall  enrol 

Of  that  Paternal  Soul. 

KiCHAKD    HeNEY    StODDAED 


[152] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

Foully  assassinated,  April  H,  1865 

rO  f/  lay  a  wreath  on  murdered  Lincoln''s  bier, 
You,  who  with  mocking  pencil  wont  to  trace, 
Broad  for  the  self-complacent  British  sneer, 

His  length  of  shambling  limb,  his  furrowed  face. 

His  gaunt,  gnarled  hands,  his  unkempt,  bristling  hair, 
His  garb  uncouth,  his  bearing  ill  at  ease, 

His  lack  of  all  we  prize  as  debonair. 

Of  power  or  will  to  shine,  of  art  to  please. 

You,  whose  smart  pen  backed  up  the  pencil's  laugh, 
Judging  each  step  as  though  the  way  were  plain: 

Reckless,  so  it  could  point  its  paragraph, 
Of  chief's  perplexity,  or  people's  pain. 

Beside  this  corpse,  that  bears  for  winding-sheet 
The  Stars  and  Stripes  he  lived  to  rear  anew, 

Between  the  mourners  at  his  head  and  feet. 
Say,  scurril- jester,  is  there  room  for  you'? 

Yes,  he  had  lived  to  shame  me  from  my  sneer, 
To  lame  my  pencil  and  confute  my  pen — 

To  make  me  own  this  hind  of  princes  peer. 
This  rail-splitter  a  true-born  king  of  men. 

[153] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN— [Continued] 

My  shallow  judgement  I  had  learnt  to  rue, 
looting  how  to  occasion's  height  he  rose, 

How  his  quaint  wit  made  home-truths  seem  more  true. 
How,  iron-like,  his  temper  grew  by  blows. 

How  humble  yet  how  hopeful  he  could  be: 
How  in  good  fortune  and  in  ill  the  same: 

Nor  bitter  in  success,  nor  boastful  he, 

Thirsty  for  gold,  nor  feverish  for  fame. 

He  went  about  his  work — such  work  as  few 

Ever  had  laid  on  head  and  heart  and  hand — 

As  one  who  knows,  where  there's  a  task  to  do, 

Man's  honest  will  must  Heaven's  good  gi'ace  com- 
mand; 

Who  trusts  the  strength  will  with  the  burden  gi'ow, 
That  God  makes  instruments  to  work  His  will, 

If  but  that  will  we  can  contrive  to  know, 

iN'or  tamper  with  the  weights  of  good  and  ill. 

So  he  went  forth  to  battle,  on  the  side 

That  he  felt  clear  was  Liberty's  and  Eight's, 

As  in  his  peasant  boyhood  he  had  plied 

His  warfare  with  rude  ISTature's  thwarting  mights — 

The  uncleared  forest,  the  unbroken  soil. 

The  iron-bark,  that  turns  the  lumberer's  axe, 

The  rapid,  that  o'erbears  the  boatman's  toil, 

The  prairie,  hiding  the  mazed  wanderer's  tracks, 
[154] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN— [Conimwerf] 

The  ambushed  Indian,  and  the  prowling  bear — 

Such  were  the  needs  that  helped  his  youth  to  train: 

Rough  culture — but  such  trees  large  fruit  may  bear, 
If  but  their  stocks  be  of  right  girth  and  grain. 

So  he  grew  up,  a  destined  work  to  do, 

And  lived  to  do  it:  four  long-suffering  years' 

IH-fate,  ill-feeling,  ill-report,  lived  through. 

And  then  he  heard  the  hisses  change  to  cheers, 

The  taunts  to  tribute,  the  abuse  to  praise, 

And  took  both  with  the  same  unwavering  mood : 

Till,  as  he  came  on  light,  from  darkling  days. 

And  seemed  to  touch  the  goal  from  where  he  stood, 

A  felon  hand,  between  the  goal  and  him, 

Reached  from  behind  his  back,  a  trigger  prest, — 

And  those  perplexed  and  patient  eyes  were  dim, 

Those  gaunt,  long-labouring  limbs  were  laid  to  rest ! 

The  words  of  mercy  were  upon  his  lips, 

Forgiveness  in  his  heart  and  on  his  pen, 

When  this  vile  murderer  brought  swift  eclipse 

To  thoughts  of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men. 

The  Old  World  and  the  New,  from  sea  to  sea. 
Utter  one  voice  of  sympathy  and  shame! 

Sore  heart,  so  stopped  when  it  at  last  beat  high, 
Sad  life,  cut  short  just  as  its  triumph  came. 

[155] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LmCOLN— [Continued] 

A  deed  accurst !     Strokes  Lave  been  struck  before 
By  the  assassin's  hand,  whereof  men  doubt 

If  more  of  horror  or  disgrace  they  bore ; 

But  thy  foul  crime,  like  Caix's,  stands  darkly  out, 

Vile  hand,  that  brandest  murder  on  a  strife, 

Whate'er  its  grounds,  stoutly  and  nobly  striven ; 

And  with  the  martyr's  crown  crownest  a  life 
With  much  to  praise,  little  to  be  forgiven! 

Tom  Tatloe 


'Punch/'  London,  May  6,  1865. 


In  reference  to  the  long  controversy  over  the  authorship  of  the 
foregoing  famous  recantation — which  crops  out  periodically  even 
to  this  day — it  may  be  interesting  to  those  who  have  not  seen  the 
book  Shirley  Brooks  of  Punch,  by  George  Somes  Layard  (Henry 
Holt  &  Co.,  1907),  to  hear  that  he  has  quite  authoritatively  settled 
the  question.  This  he  was  asked  to  do  when  he  undertook  the  work. 
Pages  241-247  adequately  cover  the  matter.  For  those  to  whom  the 
book  may  not  be  accessible,  the  following  quotations  ai"e  made: 

From  Shirley's  diary  of  May  10,  1865,  p.  245: 

"Dined  Punch,  all  there.     Let  out  my  views  against  some  verses 
on  Lincoln  in  which  T.  T.  (Tom  Taylor)   had  not  only  made  Punch 
eat  umbles  pie  but  swallow  dish  and  all.     P.  L.    (Percival  Leigh) 
and  J.  T.  (John  Tenniel)  with  me." 

Mr.  Layard  comments  on  the  above:  "So  there  was  the  answer 
to  the  burning  question  in  Shirley's  own  handwriting.  So  far,  in- 
deed, from  being  the  writer  of  the  verses,  he  most  heartily  con- 
demned their  publication." 

[156] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN— [Co«<mtted] 

On  p.  247  this:  "Later  Mr.  Silver  (secretary  of  the  Punch  club) 
at  my  request  looked  up  his  record  of  the  aforesaid  Pwnch  dinner 
and  found  the  following: 

"Shirley  protests  against  Tom  Taylor's  lines  on  Lincoln.  'Punch 
has  not  been  blind  and  shallow,'  he  declared  indignantly,  'and  even 
if  it  had,  we  ought  not  to  own  it.  Would  you  have  written  the 
lines,  Leigh?' 

"  'I !  No,  I  should  think  not,  indeed,'  says  Leigh.  Thereupon 
Mark  Lemon  totally  disagrees  with  them  both. 

"  'The  avowal,'  he  says,  'that  we  have  been  a  bit  mistaken  is 
manly  and  just.' " 


[15Y] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


O  CAPTAIN!     MY  CAPTAIN! 

OCAPTAUST!  my  Captain!  our  fearful  trip  is  done, 
The  ship  has  weather'd  every  rack,  the  prize  we 
sought  is  won, 
The  port  is  near,  the  bells  I  hear,  the  people  all  exult- 

While  follow  eyes  the  steady  keel,  the  vessel  grim  and 
daring ; 

But  0  heart !  heart !  heart ! 
O  the  bleeding  drops  of  red. 

Where  on  the  deck  my  Captain  lies, 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 


O  Captain!  my  Captain!  rise  up  and  hear  the  bells; 
Rise  up — for  you  the  flag  is  flung — for  you  the  bugle 

trills. 
For  you  bouquets  and  ribbon'd  wreaths — for  you  the  shores 

a-crowding, 
For  you  they  call,  the  swaying  mass,  their  eager  faces 
turning ; 

Here  Captain  !  dear  father ! 
This  arm  beneath  your  head! 
It  is  some  dream  that  on  the  deck 
You've  fallen  cold  and  dead. 
[158] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


O  CAPTAIN!     MY  CAFTAIN I  — [Continued] 

My  Captain  does  not  answer,  his  lips  are  pale  and  still, 
My  father  does  not  feel  my  arm,  he  has  no  pulse  nor  will, 
The  ship  is  anchor'd  safe  and  sound,  its  voyage  closed  and 

done, 
From  fearful  trip  the  victor  ship  comes  in  with  object 
won; 

Exult  O  shores,  and  ring  0  bells ! 
But  I  with  mournful  tread, 

Walk  the  deck  my  Captain  lies. 
Fallen  cold  and  dead. 

Walt  Whitmai^ 


[159] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


HUSH'D  BE  THE  CAMPS  TO-DAY 

HUSH'D  be  the  camps  to-day, 
And,  soldiers,  let  us  drape  our  war-worn  weapons, 
And  each  with  musing  soul  retire  to  celebrate 
Our  dear  commander's  death. 

!N^o  more  for  him  life's  stormy  conflicts, 

N^or  victory,  nor  defeat — no  more  time's  dark  events, 

Charging  like  ceaseless  clouds  across  the  sky. 

But  sing,  poet,  in  our  name, 

Sing  of  the  love  we  bore  him — because  you,  dweller  in 
camps,  know  it  truly. 

As  they  invault  the  coffin  there. 

Sing — as  they  close  the  doors  of  earth  upon  him — one 

verse. 
For  the  heavy  hearts  of  soldiers. 

Walt  Whitman 


[160] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THIS  DUST  WAS  ONCE  THE  MAN 

THIS  dust  was  once  the  man, 
Gentle,  plain,  just  and  resolute,  under  whose  cau- 
tious hand. 
Against  the  foulest  crime  in  history  known  in  any  land 

or  age, 
Was  saved  the  Union  of  these  States. 

Walt  Whitman 


[161] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WHEN  LILACS  LAST  IN  THE  DOORYARD  BLOOM'D 

W3EN  lilacs  last  in  the  dooryard  bloom' d, 
And  the  great  star  early  droop'd  in  the  western 
sky  in  the  night, 
I    mourn'd,    and    yet    shall    mourn    with    ever-returning 
spring. 

Ever-returning  spring,  trinity  sure  to  me  you  bring. 
Lilac  blooming  perennial  and  drooping  star  in  the  west, 
And  thought  of  him  I  love. 

O  powerful  western  fallen  star! 

O  shades  of  night — O  moody,  tearful  night! 

O  great  star  disappear'd — O  the  black  murk  that  hides 

the  star! 
0  cruel  hands  that  hold  me  powerless — O  helpless  soul 

of  me! 
O  harsh  surrounding  cloud  that  will  not  free  my  soul. 

In   the  dooryard   fronting  an  old   farm-house   near  the 

white-wash'd  palings. 
Stands  the  lilac  bush  tall-growing  with  heart-shaped  leaves 

of  rich  green. 
With  many  a  pointed  blossom  rising  delicate,  with  the 

perfume  strong  I  love. 
With  every  leaf  a  miracle — and  from  this  bush  in  the 
dooryard, 
[162] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WHEN  LILACS  LAST  IN  THE  DOORYAED  BLOOM'D— 

[Continued] 

With  delicate-colour'd  blossoms  and  heart-sliaped  leaves 

of  rich  green, 
A  sprig  with  its  flower  I  break. 

In  the  swamp  in  secluded  recesses, 

A  shy  and  hidden  bird  is  warbling  a  song. 

Solitary  the  thrush, 

The  hermit  withdrawn  to  himself,   avoiding  the  settle- 
ments. 
Sings  by  himself  a  song. 

Song  of  the  bleeding  throat. 

Death's  outlet  song  of  life,  (for  well  dear  brother  I  know, 

If  thou  wast  not  granted  to  sing  thou  wouldst  surely  die.) 

Over  the  breast  of  the  spring,  the  land,  amid  cities, 

Amid  lanes  and  through  old  woods,  where  lately  the  vio- 
lets peep'd  from  the  ground,  spotting  the  grey 
debris. 

Amid  the  grass  in  the  fields  each  side  of  the  lanes,  pass- 
ing the  endless  grass. 

Passing  the  yellow-spear'd  wheat,  every  grain  from  its 
shroud  in  the  dark-bro\vn  fields  uprisen, 

Passing  the  apple-tree  blows  of  white  and  pink  in  the 
orchards, 

Carrying  a  corpse  to  where  it  shall  rest  in  the  grave, 

Night  and  day  journeys  a  coffin. 

[163] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WHEN  LILACS  LAST  IN  THE  DOORYARD  BLOOM'D— 

[Conthmed] 

Coffin  that  passes  through  lanes  and  streets, 

Through  day  and  night  with  the  great  cloud  darkening 

the  land, 
With  the  pomp  of  the  inloop'd  flags  with  the  cities  draped 

in  black, 
With  the  show  of  the  States  themselves  as  of  crape-veil'd 

women  standing. 
With  processions  long  and  winding  and  the  flambeaus  of 

the  night, 
With   the  countless  torches   lit,   with   the   silent   sea   of 

faces  and  the  unbared  heads, 
With  the  waiting  depot,  the  arriving  coffin,  and  the  sombre 

faces. 
With  dirges  through  the  night,  with  the  thousand  voices 

rising  strong  and  solemn, 
With  all  the  mournful  voices  of  the  dirges  pour'd  around 

the  coffin, 
The  dim-lit  churches  and  the  shuddering  organs — where 

amid  these  you  journey. 
With  the  tolling  tolling  bells'  perpetual  clang. 
Here,  coffin  that  slowly  passes, 
I  give  you  my  sprig  of  lilac. 

(Nor  for  you,  for  one  alone, 
Blossoms  and  branches  green  to  coffins  all  I  bring, 
For  fresh  as  the  morning,  thus  would  I  chant  a  song  for 
you  O  sane  and  sacred  death. 
[164] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WHEN  LILACS  LAST  IN  THE  DOORYARD  BLOOM'D— 

[Contirmed] 

All  over  bouquets  of  roses, 

O  death,  I  cover  you  over  with  roses  and  early  lilies, 

But  mostly  and  now  the  lilac  that  blooms  the  first, 

Copious  I  break,  I  break  the  sprigs  from  the  bushes, 

With  loaded  arms  I  come,  pouring  for  you, 

For  you  and  the  coffins  all  of  you  O  death.) 


O  Western  orb  sailing  the  heaven, 

!N"ow  I  know  what  you  must  have  meant  as  a  month  since 

I  walk'd, 
As  I  walk'd  in  silence  the  transparent  shadowy  night. 
As  I  saw  you  had  something  to  tell  as  you  bent  to  me  night 

after  night. 
As  you  droop'd  from  the  sky  low  down  as  if  to  my  side, 

(while  the  other  stars  all  look'd  on,) 
As  we  wander'd  together  the  solemn  night,  (for  something 

I  know  not  what  kept  me  from  sleep,) 
As  the  night  advanced,  and  I  saw  on  the  rim  of  the  west 

how  full  you  were  of  wo. 
As  I  stood  on  the  rising  ground  in  the  breeze  in  the  cool 

transparent  night, 
As  I  watch'd  where  you  pass'd  and  was  lost  in  the  nether- 
ward  black  of  the  night. 
As  my  soul  in  its  trouble  dissatisfied  sank,  as  where  you 

sad  orb. 
Concluded,  dropt  in  the  night,  and  was  gone. 

[165] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WHEN  LILACS  LAST  IX  THE  DOOEYARD  BLOOM'D— 

[Continued] 

Sing  on  there  in  the  swamp, 

0  singer  bashful  and  tender,  I  hear  your  notes,  I  hear 

your  call, 

1  hear,  I  come  presently,  I  understand  you, 

But  a  moment  I  linger,  for  the  lustrous  star  has  detain'd 

me. 
The  star  my  departing  comrade  holds  and  detains  me. 

O  how  shall  I  warble  myself  for  the  dead  one  there  I 

loved  ? 
And  how  shall  I  deck  my  song  for  the  large  sweet  soul 

that  has  gone  ? 
And  what  shall  my  perfume  be  for  the  grave  of  him  I  love  ? 

Sea-winds  blown  from  east  and  west. 

Blown  from  the  Eastern  sea  and  blown  from  the  "Western 

sea,  till  there  on  the  prairies  meeting, 
These  and  with  these  and  the  breath  of  my  chant, 
I'll  perfume  the  grave  of  him  I  love. 

O  what  shall  I  hang  on  the  chamber  walls  ? 

And  what  shall  the  pictures  be  that  I  hang  on  the  walls. 

To  adorn  the  burial-house  of  him  I  love? 

Pictures  of  growing  spring  and  farms  and  homes, 
With  the  Fourth-month  eve  at  sundown,   and  the  grey 
smoke  lucid  and  bright, 
[166] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WHEN"  LILACS  LAST  IN  THE  DOORYAED  BLOOM'D— 

[Continued] 

With  floods  of  the  yellow  gold  of  the  gorgeous,  indolent, 

sinking  siin,  burning,  expanding  the  air. 
With  the  fresh  sweet  herbage  under  foot,  and  the  pale 

green  leaves  of  the  trees  prolific, 
In  the  distance  the  flowing  glaze,  the  breast  of  the  river, 

with  a  wind-dapple  here  and  there. 
With  ranging  hills  on  the  banks,  with  many  a  line  against 

the  sky,  and  shadows. 
And  the  city  at  hand  with  dwellings  so  dense,  and  stacks 

of  chimneys. 
And  all  the  scenes  of  life  and  the  workshops,  and  the 

workmen  homeward  returning. 

Lo,  body  and  soul — this  land, 

My  own  Manhattan  with  spires,  and  the  sparkling  and 

hurrying  tides,  and  the  ships. 
The  varied  and  ample  land,  the  South  and  the  N"orth  in 

the  light,  Ohio's  shores  and  flashing  Missouri, 
And  ever  the  far-spreading  prairies  cover'd  with  grass 

and  corn. 

Lo,  the  most  excellent  sun  so  calm  and  haughty, 
The  violet  and  purple  morn  with  just-felt  breezes, 
The  gentle  soft-born  measureless  light. 
The  miracle  spreading  bathing  all,  the  fulfill'd  noon. 
The  coming  eve  delicious,  the  welcome  night  and  the  stars, 
Over  my  cities  shining  all,  enveloping  man  and  land. 

[167] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WHEN  LILACS  LAST  IN  THE  DOORYARD  BLOOM'D— 

[Contmued] 

Sing  on,  sing  on  you  grey-brown  bird, 

Sing  from  the  swamps,  the  recesses,  pour  your  chant  from 

the  bushes, 
Limitless  out  of  the  dusk,  out  of  the  cedars  and  pines. 

Sing  on  dearest  brother,  warble  your  reedy  song, 
Loud  human  song,  with  voice  of  uttermost  wo. 

O  liquid  and  free  and  tender! 

O  wild  and  loose  to  my  soul — O  wondrous  singer! 

You  only  I  hear — yet  the  star  holds  me,  (but  will  soon 

depart,) 
Yet  the  lilac  with  mastering  odour  holds  me. 

Now  while  I  sat  in  the  day  and  look'd  forth. 

In  the  close  of  the  day  with  its  light  and  the  fields  of 

spring,  and  the  farmers  preparing  their  crops. 
In  the  large  unconscious  scenery  of  my  land  with  its  lakes 

and  forests, 
In  the  heavenly  aerial  beauty,  (after  the  perturb'd  winds 

and  the  storms,) 
Under  the  arching  heavens  of  the  afternoon  swift  passing, 

and  the  voices  of  children  and  women. 
The  many-moving  sea-tides,  and  I  saw  the  ships  how  they 

sail'd, 
And  the  summer  approaching  with  richness,  and  the  fields 

all  busy  with  labour, 
[168] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WHEN  LILACS  LAST  IN  THE  DOORYARD  BLOOM'D— 

[Continued] 

And  the  infinite  separate  houses,  how  they  all  went  on, 

each  with  its  meals  and  minutia  of  daily  usages, 
And  the  streets  how  their  throbbings  throbb'd,  and  the 

cities  pent — lo,  then  and  there. 
Falling  upon  them  all  and  among  them  all,  enveloping 

me  with  the  rest, 
Appear'd  the  cloud,  appear'd  the  long  black  trail. 
And  I  knew  death,  its  thought,  and  the  sacred  knowledge 

of  death. 

Then  with  the  knowledge  of  death  as  walking  one  side 

of  me. 
And  the  thought  of  death  close-walking  the  other  side  of 

me, 
And  I  in  the  middle  as  with  companions,  and  as  holding 

the  hands  of  companions, 
I  fled  forth  to  the  hiding  receiving  night  that  talks  not, 
Down  to  the  shores  of  the  water,  the  path  by  the  swamp 

in  the  dimness. 
To  the  solemn  shadowy  cedars  and  ghostly  pines  so  still. 

And  the  singer  so  shy  to  the  rest  receiv'd  me, 

The  grey-brown  bird  I  know  receiv'd  us  comrades  three. 

And  he  sang  the  carol  of  death,  and  a  verse  for  him  I  love. 

From  deep  secluded  recesses. 

From  the  fragrant  cedars  and  the  ghostly  pines  so  still. 

Came  the  carol  of  the  bird. 

[169] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WHEN  LILACS  LAST  IN  THE  DOORYARD  BLOOM'D— 

[Continued] 

And  the  charm  of  the  carol  rapt  me, 

And  I  held  as  if  by  their  hands  my  comrades  in  the  night, 

And  the  voice  of  my  spirit  tallied  the  song  of  the  bird. 

Come  lovely  and  soothing  death. 

Undulate  round  the  world,  serenely  arriving,  arriving. 

In  the  day,  in  the  night,  to  all,  to  each. 

Sooner  or  later  delicate  death. 

Prais'd  he  the  fathomless  universe. 

For  life  and  joy,  and  for  objects  and  knowledge  curious, 
And  for  love,  sweet  love — but  praise!  praise!  praise! 
For  the  sure-enwinding  arms  of  cool-enfolding  death. 

Darh  mother  always  gliding  near  with  soft  feet. 
Have  none  chanted  for  thee  a  chant  of  fullest  luelcome? 
Then  I  chant  it  for  thee,  I  glorify  thee  above  all, 
I  bring  thee  a  song  that  when  thou  must  indeed  come, 
come  unfalteringly. 

Approach  strong  deliveress, 

When  it  is  so,  when  thou  hast  taken  them  I  joyously  sing 

the  dead. 
Lost  in  the  loving  floating  ocean  of  thee. 
Loved  in  tlie  flood  of  thy  bliss,  0  death. 

From  me  to  thee  glad  serenades. 

Dances  for  thee  I  propose  saluting  thee,  adornments  and 
f eastings  for  thee, 
[170] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


^YHE^^  lilacs  last  in  the  DOORYARD  BLOOil'D— 

[Continued] 

And  the  sights  of  the  open  landscape  and  the  high-spread 

shy  core  fitting. 
And  life  and  the  fields,  and  the  huge  and  thoughtful  night. 

The  night  in  silence  under  many  a  star. 

The  ocean  shore  and  the  huslnj  whispering  wave  whose 

voice  I  hnow. 
And  the  soul  turning  to  thee  0  vast  and  well-veiVd  death. 
And  the  body  gratefidly  nestling  close  to  thee. 

Over  the  tree-tops  I  float  thee  a  song. 

Over  the  rising  and  sinking  ivaves,  over  the  myriad  fields 

and  the  prairies  wide. 
Over  the  dense-pack'd  cities  all  and  the  teeming  wharves 

and  ways, 
I  float  this  carol  with  joy,  with  joy  to  thee  0  death. 

To  the  tally  of  my  soul, 

Loud  and  strong  kept  up  the  grey-brown  bird, 

"With  pure  deliberate  notes  spreading  filling  the  night. 

Loud  in  the  pines  and  cedars  dim, 

Clear  in  the  freshness  moist  and  the  swamp-perfume, 

And  I  with  my  comrades  there  in  the  night. 

While  my  sight  that  was  bound  in  my  eyes  unclosed, 
As  to  long  panoramas  of  visions. 

[in] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WHEN  LILACS  LAST  IN  THE  DOORYARD  BLOOM'D— 

iOontimied] 

And  I  saw  askant  the  armies, 

I  saw  as  in  noiseless  dreams  hundreds  of  battle-flags, 

Borne  through  the  smoke  of  the  battles  and  pierc'd  with 

missiles  I  saw  them. 
And  carried  hither  and  yon  through  the  smoke,  and  torn 

and  bloody, 
And  at  last  but  a  few  shreds  left  on  the  staffs,  (and  all  in 

silence,) 
And  the  staffs  all  splinter'd  and  broken. 

I  saw  battle-corpses,  myriads  of  them. 

And  the  white  skeletons  of  young  men,  I  saw  them, 

I  saw  the  debris  and  debris  of  all  the  slain  soldiers  of  the 

war. 
But  I  saw  they  were  not  as  was  thought, 
They  themselves  were  fully  at  rest,  they  suffer'd  not, 
The  living  remain'd  and  suffer'd,  the  mother  suffer'd. 
And  the  wife  and  the  child  and  the  musing  comrade  suf- 
fer'd. 
And  the  armies  that  remain'd  suffer'd. 

Passing  the  visions,  passing  the  night, 

Passing,  unloosing  the  hold  of  my  comrades'  hands. 

Passing  the  song  of  the  hermit  bird  and  the  tallying  song 

of  my  soul. 
Victorious  song,  death's  outlet  song,  yet  varying  ever-al- 
tering song, 
As  low  and  wailing,  yet  clear  the  notes,  rising  and  falling, 
flooding  the  night, 
[172] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WHEN  LILACS  LAST  IN  THE  DOORYARD  BLOOM'D— 

[Continued'] 

Sadly  sinking  and  fainting,  as  warning  and  warning,  and 

yet  again  bursting  with  joy, 
Covering  the  earth  and  filling  the  spread  of  heaven, 
As  that  powerful  psalm  in  the  night  I  heard  from  recesses, 
Passing,  I  leave  thee  lilac  with  heart-shaped  leaves, 
I  leave  thee  there  in  the  dooryard,  blooming,  returning 

with  spring. 

I  cease  from  my  song  for  thee, 

From  my  gaze  on  thee  in  the  west,  fronting  the  west,  com- 
muning with  thee, 
O  comrade  lustrous  with  silver  face  in  the  night. 

Yet  each  to  keep  and  all,  retrievements  out  of  the  night. 
The  song,  the  wondrous  chant  of  the  grey-brown  bird. 
And  the  tallying  chant,  the  echo  arous'd  in  my  soul, 
With  the  lustrous  and  drooping  star  with  the  countenance 

full  of  wo, 
With  the  holders  holding  my  hand  nearing  the  call  of 

the  bird, 
Comrades  mine  and  I  in  the  midst,  and  their  memory  ever 

to  keep,  for  the  dead  I  loved  so  well. 
For  the  sweetest,  wisest  soul  of  all  my  days  and  lands — 

and  this  for  his  dear  sake. 
Lilac  and  star  and  bird  twined  with  the  chant  of  my  soul. 
There  in  the  fragrant  pines  and  the  cedars  dusk  and  dim. 

Walt  Whitman 
[173] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


(( 


WALT  WHITMAN'S  SPRIG  OF  LILAC 

When  lilacs  last  in  the  clooryard  bloom'd" — W.  W. 

OXCE  more,  O  heart,  caress  this  humble  hush 
And  swing  thy  gates  to  gleam  of  western  star, 
To  haunting  lure  of  perfume  calling  far, 
When  falls  the  cool  of  fourth-month  evening  hush. 
Dare  I  intrust  thy  strength,  O  mem'ry  rush, 
To  cleanly  leap  each  self-love  ling'ring  bar 
Athwart  thy  wonted  path  lest  it  should  mar 
That  distant  song  of  solemn,  plaintive  thrush  ? 
Ah,  wide  the  miles  and  deep  the  flood  of  years, 
Yet  hour,  and  star,  and  bush  are  still  the  same ! 
Behold,  great  love  this  lilac  sprig  to  fame 
Has  linked ;  these  dripping  gems,  a  poet's  tears ! 
O  Whitman,  see,  another  spirit  hears 
Ajid  plucks  a  flower  in  thy  loved  Lincoln's  name ! 

Edmond  S.  Meant 


[1T4] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


MEMORIES  OF  WHITMAN  AND  LINCOLN 

"When  lilacs  last  in  the  dooryard  bloom' d" — W.  W. 

LILACS  shall  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 
And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 
Spring  hangs  in  the  dew  of  the  dooryards 
These  memories — these  memories — 
They  hang  in  the  dew  for  the  bard  who  fetched 
A  sprig  of  them  once  for  his  brother 
When  he  lay  cold  and  dead.  .  .  . 

And  forever  now  when  America  leans  in  the  dooryard 
And  over  the  hills  Spring  dances, 
Smell  of  lilacs  and  sight  of  lilacs  shall  bring  to  her  heart 

these  brothers.  .  .  . 
Lilacs  shall  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 
And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

Who  are  the  shadow  forms  crowding  the  night? 
What  shadows  of  men  ? 

The  stilled  star-night  is  high  with  these  brooding  spirits — 
Their  shoulders  rise  on  the  Earth-rim,  and  they  are  great 

presences  in  heaven — 
They  move  through  the  stars  like  outlined  winds  in  young 

maples. 
Lilacs  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 
And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

[175] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


MEMORIES  OF  WHITMAN  AND  LINCOLN— [Con tinuet?] 

Deeply  the  nation  throbs  with  a  world's  anguish — 

But  it  sleeps,  and  I  on  the  housetops 

Commune  with  souls  long  dead  who  guard  our  land  at 
midnight, 

A  strength  in  each  hushed  heart — 

I  seem  to  hear  the  Atlantic  moaning  on  our  shores  with 
the  plaint  of  the  dying, 

And  rolling  on  our  shores  with  the  rumble  of  battle.  .  .  . 

I  seem  to  see  my  country  growing  golden  toward  Cali- 
fornia, 

And,  as  fields  of  daisies,  a  people,  with  slumbering,  up- 
turned faces 

Leaned  over  by  Two  Brothers, 

And  the  greatness  that  is  gone. 

Lilacs  shall  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 
And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

Spring  runs  over  the  land, 

A  young  girl,  light-footed,  eager,  .  .  . 

For  I  hear  a  song  that  is  faint  and  sweet  with  first  love, 

Out  of  the  West,  fresh  with  the  grass  and  the  timber, 

But  dreamily  soothing  the  sleepers.  .  .  . 

I  listen:  I  drink  it  deep. 

Softly  the  Spring  sings, 
Softly  and  clearly: 
[176] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


MEMORIES  OF  WHITMAN  AND  LINCOLN— [Continwed] 

"I  open  lilacs  for  the  beloved. 

Lilacs  for  the  lost,  the  dead. 

And,  see,  for  the  living,  I  bring  sweet  strawberry 

blossoms. 
And  I  bring  buttercups,  and  I  bring  to  the  woods 

anemones  ami  blue  bells.  .  .  . 
I  open  lilacs  for  the  beloved. 
And  when  my  fiuttering  garment  drifts  through  dusty 

cities. 
And  blows  on  hills,  and  brushes  the  inland  sea. 
Over  you,  sleepers,  over  you,  tired  sleepers, 
A  fragrant  memory  falls.  .  .  . 
I  open  love  in  the  shut  heart, 
I  open  lilacs  for  the  beloved." 

Lilacs  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 
And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

Was  that  the  Spring  that  sang,  opening  locked  hearts, 

And  is  remembrance  mine  ? 

For  I  know  these  two  great  shadows  in  the  spacious  night, 

Shadows  folding  America  close  between  them, 

Close  to  the  heart.  .  .  . 

And  I  know  my  own  lost  youth  grew  up  blessedly  in  their 

spirit, 
And  how  the  morning  song  of  the  mighty  native  bard 
Sent  me  out  from  my  dreams  to  the  living  America, 
To  the  chanting  seas,  to  the  piney  hills,  down  the  railroad 

vistas, 

[177] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


MEMORIES  OF  WHITMAN  AXD  LI'i^COLK— [Continued] 

Out  into  the  streets  of  Manhattan  when  the  whistles  blew 

at  seven, 
Do\\Ti  to  the  mills  of  Pittsburgh  and  the  rude  faces  of 

labour.  ... 
And  I  know  the  gi-ave  great  music  of  that  other, 
Music  in  which  lost  armies  sang  requiems, 
And  the  vision  of  that  gaunt,  that  great  and  solemn  figure. 
And  the  gTaven  face,  the  deep  eyes,  the  mouth, 
O  human-hearted  brother. 
Dedicated  anew  mv  undevoted  heart 
To  America,  my  land. 

Lilacs  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 
And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

ISTow  in  this  hour  I  was  suppliant  to  these  two  brothers, 

And  I  said:     Your  land  has  need: 

Half-awakened    and    blindly    we    grope    in    the    great 

world.  .  .  . 
What  strength  may  we  take  from  our  Past,  what  promise 

hold  for  our  Future  ? 
And  the  one  brother  leaned  and  whispered : 
*'I  put  my  strength  in  a  book, 
And  in  that  book  my  love.  .  .  . 
This,  with  my  love,  I  give  to  America.  .  .  ." 

And  the  other  brother  leaned  and  murmured: 
"I  put  my  strength  in  a  life, 
And  in  that  life  my  love. 
This,  with  my  love,  I  give  to  America." 
[178] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


MEMORIES  OF  WHITMAN  AXD  LmCOU^— [Continued] 

Lilacs  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 
x\nd  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

Then  my  heart   sang  out:   This   strength  shall   be  our 

strength : 
Yea,  when  the  gi-eat  hour  comes,  and  the  sleepers  wake 

and  are  hurled  back, 
And  creep  down  into  themselves, 
There  shall  they  find  Walt  Whitman 
And  there,  Abraham  Lincoln. 

O  Spring,  go  over  this  land  with  much  singing 

And  open  the  lilacs  everywhere. 

Open  them  out  with  the  old-time  fragrance 

Making  a  people  remember  that  something  has  been  for- 
gotten, 

Something  is  hidden  deep — strange  memories — strange 
memories — 

Of  him  that  brought  a  sprig  of  the  purple  cluster 

To  him  that  was  mourned  of  all.  .  .  . 

And  so  they  are  linked  together 

While  yet  America  lives.  .  .  . 

While  yet  America  lives,  my  heart. 
Lilacs  shall  bloom  for  Walt  Whitman 
And  lilacs  for  Abraham  Lincoln. 

James  OprENHEiii 

[179] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  ASSASSINATED 

ABKAHAM  LINCOLI^,  the  kind  and  good  President 
of  the  United  States,  has  been  assassinated,  and 
amongst  all  the  news  of  startling  import  which  reaches 
us  this  week — the  death  of  the  amiable  Czarowitz  of  Rus- 
sia, the  uncertain  state  of  the  health  of  the  king  of  the 
Belgians,  the  assassination  of  the  assistant  secretary  of 
the  Russian  legation  at  Paris,  the  capitulation  of  his  army 
by  General  Lee,  and  the  confession  of  the  murder  of  her 
little  brother,  five  years  ago,  by  Constance  Kent — that  is 
the  one  subject  which  engrosses  public  attention  and  oc- 
cupies the  minds  of  all  thinking  men.  A  full  account, 
so  far  as  it  has  yet  reached  us,  of  the  assassination  of  the 
President  will  be  found  in  another  column.  Let  us  briefly 
recapitulate  a  few  of  the  events  which  have  been  hurrying 
forward  with  such  terrific  rapidity  in  the  United  States 
within  the  last  few  weeks,  and  drop  a  tear  to  the  memory 
of  a  man  who,  in  circumstances  of  unparalleled  difficulty, 
did  as  much  for  his  country  as  any  of  his  predecessors  in 
the  high  office  which  he  held — Washington  or  Adams,  Jef- 
ferson or  Madison,  Monroe  or  Quincy  Adams,  Jackson 
or  Van  Buren,  Harrison  or  Tyler,  Polk  or  Taylor,  Fill- 
more, Pierce,  or  Buchanan ;  and  these  names  constitute 
the  whole  of  the  men  who  have  presided  over  the  United 
[180] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  ASSASSINATED— [Continttec?] 

States  of  North  America  since  their  government  was  fairly 

established  on  its  present  basis  in  1789. 

•  •••••• 

LINCOLN"  was,  withal,  so  good  a  man;  his  country 
looked  to  him  so  earnestly  in  her  hour  of  need;  his  pa- 
triotism was  so  great;  his  honesty  so  sterling;  his  clem- 
ency so  marked ;  his  piety  so  pure ;  his  firmness  so  inex- 
haustible, that  none  but  miscreants  such  as  these  could 
have  entertained  for  a  moment  the  atrocious  idea  of  a 
crime  like  this.  In  the  magnificent  language  of  Macbeth, 
when  soliloquising  upon  the  proposed  murder  of  the  gentle 
Duncan — 

"He  hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 
So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 
Will  plead  like  angels,  trumpet-tongued,  against 
The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking-oif ; 
And  pity,  like  a  naked,  new-born  babe. 
Striding  the  blast,  on  Heaven's  cherubim  horsed, 
Upon  the  sightless  couriers  of  the  air. 
Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye. 
That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind." 

The  above  extract  from  the  West  Surrey  Times,  April  29,  1865, 
and  the  following  group  of  poems  from  England,  France  and  Italy, 
were  found  in  "The  Appendix  to  the  Diplomatic  Correspondence, 
1865."  This  large  octavo  volume,  fine  print,  contains  only  the  "senti- 
ments of  condolence  and  sympathy"  from  foreign  countries.  Repre- 
sentatives of  the  governments  of  all  countries,  and  many  organisa- 

[181] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


tions  and  private  individuals,  sent  condolences  to  the  United  States 
and  to  Mrs.  Lincoln  at  this  time  of  national  and  personal  bereave- 
ment. 

The  few  messages  in  poetic  form  are  reprinted  here  for  the  new 

significance  they  take  on,  now  that  we  are  more  strongly  than  ever 
allied  with  these  great  nations  in  the  present  war  for  World  Free- 
dom. 


[182] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


W.  GRAY  TO  AMBASSADOR  ADAMS 

Abington  Terrace, 
^N'orthampton,  May  19,  1865. 
Respected  Sie: 

Your  well  known  courtesy  encourages  me  to  forward  the 
enclosed  lines  to  you,  at  the  request  of  an  invalid  sister, 
whose  composition  they  are,  as  a  tribute  to  the  memory  of 
that  great  and  good  man,  your  late  President. 

If  it  would  not  be  out  of  place,  and  should  meet  with 
your  approbation,  my  sister  desires  you  would  enclose 
them  in  your  future  despatches  for  Mrs.  Lincoln,  with  a 
sincere  hope  that  they  may  afford  her  some  comfort  in 
her  heavy  affliction.  Trusting  you  will  pardon  the  lib- 
erty I  have  taken, 

I  remain  your  most  obedient  servant, 

William  Geay 
C.  F.  Adams,  Esq., 

United  States  Ambassador. 


[183] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

A  NATION — nor  one  only — mourns  thy  loss, 
Brave  Lincoln,  and  with  voice  unanimous 
Kaises  to  thy  deathless  memory 
A  dirge-like  song  of  all  thy  noble  deeds. 
High  let  it  rise;  and  I,  too,  fain  would  add 
A  loving  tribute  to  thy  priceless  worth, 
More  widely  known  since  banished   from  the  earth. 

Laurel  shall  now  thy  brow  entwine 
In  memory's  ever  faithful  shrine; 
Nor  shall  it  fade  when  earth  dissolves. 
Caught  up  to  meet  thee  in  the  air, 
Old  age  and  youth  shall  bless  thee  there; 
Love  shall  her  grateful  tribute  pay. 
Nor  cease  through  heaven's  eternal  day. 

Grace  W.  Geay 

Northampton^  England. 


[184] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LATE  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN 

Resolution  passed  at  the  ordinary  meeting  of  the  Albert 

Literary  Society 

AT  the  ordmai7  meeting  of  the  Albert  Literary  So- 
ciety, on  the  4:th  instant,  held  at  the  Royal  Institu- 
tion, Colquitt  Street,  Mr.  G.  H.  Ball  in  the  chair,  the 
following  resolution  was  proposed  by  Mr.  A.  B.  Hayward, 
the  vice-president,  seconded  by  Mr.  E.  J.  Parr,  the  treas- 
urer,   and   carried   unanimously: 

"That  this  society  record  its  deep  horror  of  the  enor- 
mous crime  which  has  deprived  the  American  people  of 
their  Chief  Magistrate,  and  tender  to  the  late  President 
Lincoln's  family,  and  the  nation  at  large,  its  sincere  sym- 
pathy, and  also  its  appreciation  of  his  singular  ability,  rare 
integrity,  and  progressive  spirit." 

William  Evans, 
Hon.   Secretary. 
Liverpool  J  May  5,  1865. 


[185] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINXOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

OJC  semper  tyrannis!"  the  assassin  cried, 
kj    As  Lincoln  fell.    O  villain !  who  than  he 

More  lived  to  set  both  slave  and  tyrant  free, 
Or  so  enrapt  with  plans  of  freedom  died, 
That  even  thy  treacherous  deed  shall  glance  aside 

And  do  the  dead  man's  will  bv  land  and  sea ; 

Win  bloodless  battles,  and  make  that  to  be 
"Which  to  his  livinc:  mandate  was  denied ! 
Peace  to  that  gentle  heart !    The  peace  he  sought 

For  all  mankind,  nor  for  it  dies  in  vain. 
Rest  to  the  uncrowned  king  who,  toiling,  brought 

His  bleeding  country  through  that  dreadful  reign; 
Who,  living,  earn'd  a  world's  revering  thought, 

And,  dying,  leaves  his  name  without  a  stain. 

EOBEET    LeictHto:^' 

Liverpool,  May,  1865. 


[186] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MR.  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

President  of  the  republic  of  the  United  States  of  Amer- 
ica, May,  1865 

Translation 

THE  works  of  Satan  fill  the  earth  with  pain ; 
The  world  is  now  mourning  one  of  his  wicked  deeds. 
Who  has  not  heard  of  his  last  exploit  ? 
The  news  is  carried  by  the  tolling  of  a  hell. 
Public  welfare  now  demands  that  we  be  all  united ; 
Let  feelings  of  jealousy  be  laid  aside ; 
We  only  think  of  saving  our  country. 

Free  and  noble  children  of  America ! 

The  hero  of  the  great  republic  is  no  more; 

He  who,  when  in  danger,  saved  its  flag! 

Washington  will  receive  him  as  a  brother, 

But  the  world  will  mourn  him  more  than  Washington. 

The  universe  will  sing  a  hymn. 

And  say  he  went  down  a  martyr  to  the  tomb. 

When  the  madman  in  his  fury  struck  the  sage, 

The  human  race  was  shocked  with  horror  and  remorse. 

Why  should  just  men  tolerate  such  fiends  among  them? 

If  such  men  were  less  common  now,  in  France, 

We  would  ne'er  regret  so  many  crimes. 

[187] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MK.  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN— [Con tinwerf] 

God  cries  in  His  anger,  vengeance ; 

Justice  wants  another  bloody  sacrifice, 

And  Lincoln  fell,  the  victim  of  innocence. 

Like  Christ,  like  Brown,  he  was  a  martyr. 

He  died  to  save  his  country  and  to  free  the  blacks. 

!Now  his  holy  reign  is  over. 

Forget  him  not,  ye  generous  sons  of  Ham. 

Let  us  now  look  up  to  heaven, 
And  ask  his  immortal  soul. 
Freed  from  the  trammels  of  the  flesh. 
If  his  work  was  not  perfect. 
The  world  moves  on,  and  men  rejoice 
That  freedom  is  restored  to  all. 
Some  may  not  bless  him  now; 
But  e'er  they  die  they'll  see  the  good  he  did. 

And  praise  him. 

AUGUSTE    L'AXLOUX 

Former  intevpreter  of  Dupetit-Thouars,  Braut  and 
Hamlin,  Bachelor  of  Arts,  professor  of  English,  first  prir 
mary  free  teacher,  38  Chaussee  du  Maine,  Paris. 


[188] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


J.  C.  LUSINE  TO  MESSRS.  SEWARD 

Translation 

GENTLEMEN  I  There  arc  names  which  explain  the 
condition  of  a  country,  and  Mr.  Lincoln's  is  one  of 
them.  The  illustrious  citizen  who  protested  against  slav- 
ery and  assassination  has  fallen  a  victim  to  fanaticism. 

In  dedicating  this  day  a  sprig  of  anemone  to  the  memory 
of  your  glorious  martyr,  thus  joining  in  the  prayers  of 
thousands,  be  assured  that  my  heart  also  protests  against 
assassination,  whatever  may  be  its  motive,  and  particu- 
larly against  that  of  which  you  yourselves,  together  with 
your  friends,  came  near  being  the  victims. 

Mr.  Lincoln  placed  entire  confidence  in  you,  gentlemen, 
and  you  may  believe  that  a  poor  French  workingman  feels 
intense  satisfaction  in  your  speedy  recovery,  because  he 
sees  in  it  a  determination  on  your  part  to  finish  the  task 
begun  by  President  Lincoln,  and  to  attend  more  devot- 
edly to  the  cause  of  the  slaves  liberated  by  your  blood  and 
his. 

May  peace  hereafter  preside  over  your  noble  efforts. 

J.   C.  LUSINE, 
No  26,  Bernard  Street,  Paris. 

Enclosed  is  a  printed  sonnet  taken  from  the  Phare  de 
la  Loire,  May  2,  1865,  entitled:     Un  Kameau  d'lmmor- 

telle. 

[189] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


UN  RAMEAU  D'IMMORTELLE 

LINCOLN,  grand  citoyen,  fils  de  la  liberte, 
Integre  magistrat,  vertu  digne  d'Homere ; 
Toi  qui  n'oiiblias  point  ton  berceau  ni  ta  mere, 
Gloire  de  I'Amerique  et  de  I'humanite! 

Ton  devoir  est  rempli :  Ton  ombre  avec  fierte 
Voir  I'esclavage  en  vain  queter  un  victimaire, 
II  n'a  pris  que  ton  corps ;  le  crime  est  ephemere.  .  .  . 
Ton  oeuvre  a  toi  s'envole  a  I'immortalite ! 

Aussi,  comme  une  femme  au  fruit  de  ses  entrailles, 
Le  Sud  au  Nord  uni  pleure  a  tes  funerailles: 
Ton  sang  dicte  la  paix  au  peuple  fier  geant ! 

KeQois  done,  6  martyr  de  la  liberte  sainte, 

Des  travailleurs  frangais  dans  le  deuil  et  la  plainte: 

Un  rameau  d'immortelle  a  travers  I'oeean! 

J.    C.   LUSINE, 

Employe,  ancien  ouvrier  relieur. 
28  avril  1865. 


[190] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


PAUL  THOUZERY  TO  MR.  BIGELOW  AND  TO 
PRESIDENT  JOHNSON 

Translation 

Paris,  May  20,  1865. 
Sir  :  I  have  the  honour  of  sending  you  with  this  letter 
several  copies  of  an  ode  I  have  composed  in  honour  of 
Abraham  Lincoln,  and  two  letters,  one  for  the  widow  of 
the  great  man,  and  the  other  for  Mr.  Johnson,  now  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States. 

I  shall  be  infinitely  obliged  to  you  if  you  will  send  them 
to  their  destinations  in  the  shortest  possible  time. 

You  will  also  do  me  the  favour  to  fix  a  day  when  I 
may  have  a  brief  interview  with  you. 

Accept  my  sympathy  for  your  glorious  country,   and 
the  assurance  of  my  most  distinguished  consideration. 

Paul  Thouzery 
To  Mr.  Bigelow, 

Minister  Plenipotentiary   of   the    United  States   of 
America. 

Translation 

Paris,  May  20,  1865. 
Mr.  President  :   To  one  whom  Abraham  Lincoln  loved 
and  associated  with  him  in  his  great  work,  I  send  an  ode 
addressed  to  the  memory  of  that  gi-eat  man. 

[191] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


PAUL  THOUZERY   TO  PRESIDENT  JOHNSON  — [Continued] 

May  ray  verses  find  an  echo  in  every  American  heart ! 
May  your  worthy  citizens  aid  yon  in  the  labour  you  have 
undertaken !     You  only  were  worthy  to  succeed  Lincoln. 

The  ode  I  send  you  to-day  will  prove,  I  hope,  that  the 
sympathy  of  the  world  is  with  you. 

To  eulogise  the  dead  in  the  presence  of  the  living  is 
honouring  the  latter,  by  showing  them  that  we  confide  in 
their  genius  and  their  impartiality. 

I  am,  with  respect,  Mr.  President,  your  humble  ad- 
mirer, 

Paul  Thouzeey 

To  Me.  JoHNsoisr, 

President  of  the  United  States  of  America. 

ODE 
A  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 


OUI,  ce  n'est  que  trop  vi'ai,  la  fatale  nouvelle, 
Dont  eut  voulu  douter  notre  raison  rebelle, 
S'est  confirmee,  et  tout  nous  peint  son  aff reux  sort ; 
Et  les  peuples  tremblants,  dans  Fun  et  1' autre  monde, 
Sentant  leur  coeur  saisi  d'une  douleur  profonde, 
Disent  en  pleurs:  Lincoln  est  mort! 

II  est  mort,  ce  heros  digne  des  temps  antiques ! 
Que  ne  puis-je  aujourd'hui,  dans  des  chants  homeriques, 
[192] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ODE—[Contmued] 

Apprenclre  a  I'lmivers  quels  fiirent  ses  bienfaits, 
Rappeler  ses  vertiis,  parler  de  sa  sagesse ! 
II  voiis  a  surpasses,  vieux  Nestors  de  la  Grece! 
J'en  veux  pour  preuve  ses  hauts  faits. 

II  est  mort,  mais  du  moins  son  oeuvre  est  immortelle ; 
Sa  gloire,  desormais,  rayonnera  plus  belle. 
Comme  le  Christ,  il  a  gravi  son  Golgotha, 
Et  son  sang  repandu  sur  un  nouveau  Calvaire, 
Pollen  delicieux,  fera  germer  sur  terre, 
Les  reves  d'or  qu'il  enfanta. 

II  est  mort.    Avec  lui  perira  I'esclavage, 
Son  martyre  a  nos  yeux  en  est  un  divin  gage, 
Son  voeu  le  plus  ardent  ainsi  s'accomplira : 
Des  bords  de  I'Orenoque  au  rivage  du  Tibre 
Et  du  Tage  a  I'lndus,  tout  homme  sera  libre ; 
Au  gi'and  livi'e  chacun  lira ! 

II  est  mort,  mais  du  moins  sa  tache  fut  complete, 
II  est  mort  sur  la  breche,  ainsi  qu'un  noble  athlete ; 
Quand  on  a  bien  vecu,  qu'importe  le  trepas  ? 
Pour  le  penseur,  mourir,  n'est-ce  done  pas  renaitre  ? 
C'est  se  transfigairer,  devenir  un  autre  etre, 
Puisque  I'ame  ne  perit  pas ! 

II 

O  toi  dont  I'aveugle  furie, 
A  seme  la  terre  de  deuil, 

[193] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ODE— [Continued] 

Wilkes  Booth,  traitre  a  la  patrie, 
A  genouXj  devant  ce  cerciieil, 
Heros  d'un  drame  epouvantable, 
Maiidissant  ta  haine  execrable, 
yiens  courber  ta  tete  coupable, 
Devant  ces  restes  adores. 
Viens  ecouter  la  plainte  amere 
Qui,   de  tous  les  points   de  la  terre, 
Monte  vers  la  celeste  sphere, 
Sortant  de  nos  coeurs  atterres. 
Ton  audace  egala  ta  rage, 
Mais  ton  projet  avortera. 

Et  I'Amerique,  avec  courage, 
Toujours  vers  son  but  marchera. 
En  vain,  tu  frappas  ta  victime, 
Sache-le  bien,  jamais  le  crime 
JSTe  pourra  rendre  legitime 
Le  plus  odieux  des  desseins; 
Et  ton  nom,  maudit  d'age  en  age. 
Par  I'humanite  qu'il  outrage 
Sera  clone,  sur  une  page, 
Au  pilori  des  assassins. 

Ill 

Et  toi  noble  martvr  que  le  monde  revere, 
Toi,  qui  des  opprimes  voulais  etre  le  perc, 
[104] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ODE— [Continued] 

En  vain  tu  succorabas  sous  le  plomb  meurtrier, 
Ton  nom,  le  plus  grand  nom  de  toute  republique, 
Kayonnera  tou jours  au  front  de  I'Amerique 
Comme  un  splendide  bouclier. 

Quelle  etoile  jamais  fut  pareille  a  la  tienne? 
Comme  Franklin,  issu  de  race  plebeienne, 
Parti  des  derniers  rangs,  fils  de  ta  volonte, 
Tu  montas,  tu  montas  jusques  au  rang  supreme, 
Puis  Justice  et  Devoir  furent  ton  diademe, 
Et  ton  sceptre,  la  Liberte. 

Comme  John  Bro%vn,  ce  Christ  de  I'humanite  noire 
Tu  brilleras  sans  cesse,  au  zenith  de  I'histoire, 
Les  siecles  a  venir  encor  te  beniront, 
Et,  plus  vil  fut  celui  qui  t'arracha  la  vie, 
Plus  belles,  desormais,  malgre  Tinfame  envie, 
Tes  oeuvres  etincelleront 

Dors  en  paix,  dors  en  paix  dans  tes  langes  funebres, 
La  raison,  chaque  jour,  dissipe  les  tenebres 
Que  repandaient  sur  nous  I'ignorance  et  I'orgueil; 
De  ces  rudes  fleaux  nous  chasserons  la  race, 
Et  nos  fils  heureux,  en  marchant  sur  la  trace, 
Ne  rencontreront  nul  ecueil. 

Salut,  salut  a  vous,  martyrs  de  la  pensee, 
Chacun  de  vous  travaille  a  Foenvre  commencee, 

[195] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


OD  E—  [  Con  tinned  ] 

Et  de  la  meme  foi  vous  dressez  les  autels; 
Depuis  celiii  qui  prit,  sans  trembler,  la  cigue, 
Chaeun  de  vous  ressent  quelque  douleur  aigue, 
Salut,  vous  etes  immortels ! 

Oui,  par  vous  notre  terre  ou  tout  se  renouvelle 
Verra  regner  un  jour  la  paix  universelle, 
L'amour  entre  ses  fils  mettra  I'egalite! 
Et  I'homme  comprenant  enfin  le  grand  dictame, 
Sentira  tressaillir  et  resonner  son  ame 
Au  grand  nom  de  fraternite! 

Paul   Thouzeey 


[196] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


F.  CAMPADELLI  TO  HON.  MR.    BIGELOW 

Translation 

9  Villa  St.  Michel,  (Batignolles,) 

Paris,  May  17,  1865, 

The  triumph  of  the  federal  cause,  or  rather  of  jus- 
tice,  in  America  made  every  heart  friendly  to  liberty 
palpitate  with  joy.  Why  should  sorrow  come  in  such  a 
tragic  manner  to  change  the  sentiments  of  harmony  and 
concord  that  seemed  to  surround  this  generous  successor 
of  Washington  at  a  time  when  his  moderation  and  tran- 
quil virtues  promised  a  perpetuity  of  peace  ?  What  a 
grand  and  noble  duty  he  had  to  perform  after  what  he  had 
done  already  with  such  calm  energy.  In  sacrificing  such 
a  man,  blind  passion,  we  have  no  doubt,  consecrated  his 
memory  while  it  conquered  and  killed  forever  the  worst  of 
causes.  Such  are  the  sentiments  I  have  endeavoured  to 
express  in  the  language  of  my  adopted  country  in  honour 
of  that  beautiful  American  republic  of  which  I  would  like 
to  have  the  glory  of  being  a  citizen,  and  to  the  eminent 
magistrate  for  whom  the  world  now  mourns. 

You  will  honour  me  much,  sir,  by  accepting  the  dedica- 
tion of  this  ode,  and  bestowing  upon  its  author  a  benev- 
olent regard. 

I  have  the  honour  to  be,  with  the  most  profound  re- 
spect, your  very  humble  and  obedient  servant, 

F.  Campadelli 

Hon.  Me.  Bigelow, 

United  States  Minister  at  Paris. 

[197] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ODE 

Abraham  Lincoln,  ou  le  triomphe  de  V Union  Americaine, 

dedie  a  I'honorahh  Monsieur  Bigelow,  Ministre 

des  Etats-Unis 

LE  monde  gemissait  de  cette  lutte  immense 
Ou  s'exaltait  I'orgueil  et  I'insigne  demence 
D'olygarques  brisant  le  pacte  d'Union, 
Facte  sacre,  portant  en  sa  puissante  seve 
Des  destins  que  n'ont  pas  les  conquetes  du  glaive 
Pour  conduire  a  son  but  la  grande  nation. 

De  Washington  pour  eux  I'oeuvre  serait  chimere — 

Quand  ce  heros  vengea  la  liberte,  sa  mere, 

Contre  les  oppresseurs  d'un  monde  en  son  berceau, 

Afin  de  lui  donner  sa  base  legitime, 

II  groupa  sans  effort,  par  un  lien  intime, 

Des  Etats  fraternels  sous  un  meme  drapeau. 

Et  ce  labeur,  scelle  du  sang  de  tant  de  braves, 
Fonde  par  la  vertu,  pure  de  ces  entraves 
Que  Fambition  forge  au  profit  des  tyrans, 
A  constamment  fleuri  pres  d'un  siecle  prospere, 
Donnant  a  FUnivers  Fexemple  salutaire 
Du  saint  respect  des  lois  qui  fait  les  peuples  grands. 
[198] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ODE — [Continued] 

Si  I'Europe  se  plait  a  se  faire  une  idole 
De  tout  usurpateur  sans  frein  qui  les  immole, 
Dictant  pour  toute  loi  sa  seule  volonte, 
Sur  ce  sol  genereux,  immense  champ  d'asile, 
Conviant  I'homme  fort  a  le  rendre  fertile, 
Le  premier  fruit  vital  est  dans  la  liberte. 

La,  ce  n'est  pas  en  vain  que  tout  mortel  I'implore: 
Du  faible  elle  est  le  droit,  et  le  puissant  s'honore 
De  toujours  maintenir  son  niveau  respecte. 
Alors,  chez  lui,  talents,  genie,  honneur,  fortune, 
Au  lieu  d'etre  un  danger  pour  la  cause  commune, 
Sont  les  gages  certains  de  sa  prosperite. 

Aussi,  quelle  grandeur  au  vieux  nionde  inconnue 
L'Amerique  atteignait,  depuis  la  bienvenue 
De  I'ere  ou  Washington  vint  affirmer  ses  droits! 
La  Maison-Blanche  a  vu  sans  garde  pretorienne, 
Sans  licteurs,  sans  I'eclat  de  la  pompe  ancienne, 
Des  magistrats  plus  grands  et  plus  fiers  que  des  rois. 

Droit  moderne,  salut !     Et  voila  ton  prodige ! 
Palais  de  la  vertu,  salut !  car  ton  prestige 
j^e  vient  pas  d'un  pouvoir  par  la  force  usurpe: 
Quiconque  en  tes  lambris  pense,  agit  ou  respire, 
N'est  grand  qu'en  subissant  et  maintenant  Fempire 
Des  lois  qui  font  I'honneur  d'un  pcuple  emancipe. 

[199] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ODE— [Continued] 

Eh  quoi!  des  heritiers  de  ce  plan  magnifique 

Ou  se  developpait  la  grande  Republique 

Ont  ose  le  briser,  sous  le  pretexte  vain 

De  cette  liberte  qui  serait  leur  victime, 

Si,  triomphant  avec  I'esclavage,  leur  crime! 

lis  lui  faisaient  subir  un  affront  souverain! 

Mais  le  droit  s'est  leve  dans  sa  virile  force: 

Tout  un  peuple  a  fletri  cet  infame  divorce 

Que  pour  eux  seuls  revaient  d'orgueilleux  citoyena: 

Et,  saisissant  le  fer  contre  la  ligue  impie, 

II  a  vaincu — laissant  toute  haine  assoupie 

Quand  ont  mis  I'arme  bas  ses  aveugles  soutiens. 

Gloire,  honneur  a  Lincoln !    homme  d'une  f oi  pure, 
Qui  porta  le  fardeau  si  grand,  sans  dictature, 
Sans  violation  du  temple  saint  des  lois ; 
Honneur  a  ces  guerriers  loyaux,  vaillants  et  fermes, 
Qui  des  rebellions  ont  pu  franchir  les  termes, 
Sans  jamais  imprimer  de  tache  a  leurs  exploits! 

lis  atteignaient  deja  I'heure  de  la  concorde — 
Amerique!   c'etait  un  eloquent  exorde 
Pour  la  democratic  en  marche  d'avenir — 
Que  peuvent  desormais  les  sophismes  nefastes 
Dont  se  parent  encor  les  tyrans  et  les  castes, 
Quand  devant  eux  surgit  I'ombre  de  ton  martyr! 
[200] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


OD  E —  [  Con  tinned  ] 

O  crime !  6  trahison !  dans  ton  revers  supreme 

Til  glisses  dans  le  sang  et  I'ignoble  blaspheme — 

En  vouant  pour  jamais  a  I'immortalite 

Un  champion  du  droit  clement,  dont  la  grande  ame 

Est  I'auguste  rachat  de  ce  tribut  infame 

Qu'une  race  payait  a  la  fatalite! 

F.  Campadelli, 
Ex-lieutenant  des  Volantaires  Italiens. 
Paris,  ce  i'^'"  mai  1865. 


[201] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


IN  TOKEN  OF  RESPECT 

Translation  from  Latin  verses 

FROM  humble  parentage  and  low  degree 
Lincoln  ascended  to  the  highest  rank; 
None  ever  had  a  harder  task  than  he. 

It  was  perfected — him  alone  we  thank. 

Did  the  assassin  think  to  kill  a  name, 

Or  hand  his  own  down  to  posterity? 

One  will  wear  the  laurel  wreath  of  fame, 
The  other  be  condemned  to  infamy. 

The  mighty  Caesar  was  slain  by  Brutus, 
Yet  glorious  Rome  did  not  cease  to  be ; 

Lincoln  the  good  and  gi'eat,  by  Booth,  and  yet 
The  slaves  throughout  America  are  free ! 

r.  B. 

Bieti,  May,  1865. 


[202] 


VII.     LINCOLN'S  GRAVE 


"Meseems  I  feel  his  presence.     Is  he  dead? 
Death  is  a  word.     He  lives  and  grander  grows.' 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  GRAVE 

MAY  one  who  fought  in  honour  for  the  South 
Uncovered  stand  and  sing  by  Lincoln's  grave? 
Why,  if  I  shrunk  not  at  the  cannon's  mouth, 
N^or  swerved  one  inch  from  any  battle-wave, 
Should  I  now  tremble  in  this  quiet  close 
Hearing  the  prairie  wind  go  lightly  by 
From  billowy  plains  of  grass  and  miles  of  corn. 

While  out  of  deep  repose 
The  great  sweet  spirit  lifts  itself  on  high 
And  broods  above  our  land  this  summer  morn? 

Yon  little  city  bumbles  like  a  hive. 
And  yonder  fields  are  rolling  like  the  sea, 
From  lake  to  gulf  our  peaceful  millions  strive ; 
Old  notes  of  discord  sink  to  harmony ; 
And  here  beside  this  grave  I  stand  apart 
Clothed  in  my  birthright's  plenitude  of  power 
And  feel  the  thought  within  me  rise  and  yearn, 

And  overflow  my  heart! 
I  am  the  poet  of  this  golden  hour ; 
A  whole  world's  aspirations  in  me  burn. 

And,  erst  a  rebel,  I  am  not  a  saint ; 
For  dear  as  life  the  memory  of  those  days. 
Those  comrades,  that  young  banner;  not  a  taint 
Of  shame  my  record  holds.     I  speak  the  praise 

[205] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  GB-AYE— [Continued] 

Unbounded  of  my  camp-mates  who  yet  live, 
Or  those,  with  honour  shining  bright  as  gold, 
Who  went  to  death,  as  to  a  banquet  going; 

And  proudly  do  I  give 
A  song  to  you  who  kept  the  banner  old. 
The  dearest  flag  o'er  any  country  blowing! 

Whose  children  walk  with  bright  uplifted  heads 

Under  that  flag  by  bullets  rent  and  cloven, 

By  factions  torn  and  ravelled  into  shreds, 

By  loving  hands  untangled  and  rewoven  ? 

Both  mine  and  thine,  no  matter  where  we  fought, 

Our  wedded  veins  now  spill  a  warmer  flood 

Than  poured  at  Wilderness  and  Rocky-face; 

The  victory  we  sought. 
Each  fighting  for  what  seemed  his  children's  good, 
Came  when  that  banner  reached  its  rightful  place. 

Broad  is  our  view  and  broad  our  charity, 

Deep  calls  to  deep,  and  height  to  height  appeals. 

With  the  foregathering  voice  of  prophecy, 

And  boundless  is  the  scope  our  morn  reveals! 

Blue  as  an  iris-petal  bending  over. 

And  violet-sweet  this  cloudless  sky  of  ours ; 

Thrills  in  our  air  the  vital  fire  of  truth. 

And  o'er  us  swarm  and  hover. 
Like  golden  bees  o'er  nectar-burdened  flowers, 
The  rare  imperious  potencies  of  youth. 

[206] 


ABRAHAM    LINCOLN    OF    THE    FAREWELL    ADDRESS,    BY    ANDREW    O  CONNOR. 
DEDICATED   BEFORE    THE    CAPITOL    AT   SPRINGFIELD,   OCTOBER   5,    1918 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  GRAVE—  [ Continued] 

Oh,  is  there  now  a  ISTorth  so  arrogant, 

A  South  so  narrow  and  so  bitter  still, 

It  bosoms  any  thought  malevolent 

Under  that  flag  on  freedom's  stately  hill? 

'Not  those  who  charged  between  the  batteries, 

Crashing  midway  like  meeting  cannon-shot, 

Can  ruminate  old  hatreds  o'er  again. 

Stifling  warm  sympathies 
And  friendships  true  that  cowards  value  not; 
!N"ot  soldiers  good,  for  they  are  gentlemen. 

O  Federal  soldiers,  ours,  as  well  as  thine, 
The  passionate  wild  love  of  home  and  land ! 
When  Georgia  called  I  felt  the  thi-ill  divine. 
And  who  could  quell  my  heart  or  stay  my  hand  ? 
We  rushed  together  on  that  field  of  death, 
Unmindful  of  ourselves;  behind  us  lay 
Home,  mother,  country — all  that  life  is  worth! 

Even  now  I  feel  the  breath 
Of  courage  that  did  hurl  me  through  the  fray, 
And  strand  me  by  the  ramparts  of  the  North ! 

Right  seems  to  dally  as  it  strolls  along; 
But  still  it  moves  and  never  backward  goes; 
Each  pace  is  certain,  every  pose  is  strong; 
Crushed  in  its  vestiges  it  leaves  its  foes. 
And  yet  no  man  escapes  its  loving  care, 
Or  dies  in  vain  its  honest  combatant, 


[207] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  GB.AVE— [Continued} 

Or  fails  to  conquer  fighting  by  its  side ! 

Like  incense  on  the  air 
Went  up  brave  souls  where  bayonets  crossed  aslant 
And  every  bosom  held  a  patriot's  pride! 


Old  soldiers  true,  ah,  them  all  men  can  trust, 
Who  fought,  with  conscience  clear,  on  either  side; 
Who  bearded  Death  and  thought  their  cause  was  just; 
Their  stainless  honour  cannot  be  denied; 
All  patriots  they  beyond  the  farthest  doubt ; 
Ring  it  and  sing  it  up  and  down  the  land. 
And  let  no  voice  dare  answer  it  with  sneers, 

Or  shut  its  meaning  out ; 
Ring  it  and  sing  it,  we  go  hand  in  hand. 
Old  infantry,  old  cavalry,  old  cannoneers. 


And  if  Virginia's  vales  shall  ring  again 
To  battle-yell  of  Moseby  or  Malone, 
If  Wilder's  wild  brigade  or  Morgan's  men 
Once  more  wheel  into  line ;  or  all  alone 
A  Sheridan  shall  ride,  a  Cleburne  fall. 
There  will  not  be  two  flags  above  them  flying, 
But  both  in  one,  welded  in  that  pure  flame 

TJpflaring  in  us  all, 
When  kindred  unto  kindred  loudly  Crying 
Rally  and  cheer  in  freedom's  holy  name! 

[208] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  GRAVE— [Continued] 

Great  heart  that  bled  on  every  awful  field, 
Deep  eyes  that  wept  for  every  soldier  dead, 
What  time  the  Blue  or  Grey  swept  on  or  reeled, 
What  time,  triumphant,  Meade  or  Johnston  led; 
True  heart  that  felt  our  country  one  and  whole, 
Kind  eyes  that  saw  to  love  beyond  the  strife; 
Inspire  me,  fill  me,  hold  me  close  and  long, 

My  every  source  control. 
So  that  the  richest  veins  of  human  life 
Thrilled  through  by  thee  may  consecrate  my  song! 


I,  mindful  of  a  dark  and  bitter  past. 

And  of  its  clashing  hopes  and  raging  hates. 

Still,  standing  here,  invoke  a  love  so  vast 

It  cancels  all  and  all  obliterates. 

Save  love  itself,  which  cannot  harbour  wrong; 

Oh  for  a  voice  of  boundless  melody, 

A  voice  to  fill  heaven's  hollow  to  the  brim 

With  one  brave  burst  of  song 
Stronger  than  tempest,  nobler  than  the  sea, 
That  I  might  lend  it  to  a  song  of  him ! 


Meseems  I  feel  his  presence.     Is  he  dead  ? 
Death  is  a  word.     He  lives  and  grander  grows. 
At  Gettysburg  he  bows  his  bleeding  head ; 
He  spreads  his  arms  where  Chickamauga  flows, 

[209] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LIXCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  GRAVE— [Continued] 

As  if  to  clasp  old  soldiers  to  his  breast, 

Of  South  or  !N^orth  no  matter  which  they  be, 

Xot  thinking  of  what  uniform  they  wore, 

His  heart  a  palimpsest, 
Record  on  record  of  humanity, 
Where  love  is  first  and  last  forevermore. 

His  was  the  tireless  strength  of  native  truth, 
The  might  of  rugged,  untaught  earnestness; 
Deep-freezing  poverty  made  brave  his  youth. 
And  toned  his  manhood  with  its  winter  stress 
Up  to  the  temper  of  heroic  worth, 
And  wrought  him  to  a  crystal  clear  and  pure, 
To  mark  how  I^ature  in  her  highest  mood 

Scorns  at  our  pride  of  birth, 
And  ever  plants  the  life  that  must  endure 
In  the  strong  soil  of  wintry  solitude. 

Close  to  the  ground  what  if  his  life  began, 
In  rude  bucolic  self-denial  keyed, 
Fed  on  realities,  yet  hearing  Pan 
Along  the  brookside  blow  a  charmed  reed ! 
O  flocks  of  Hardin,  you  remember  well 
The  awkward  child,  and  had  he  not  a  look 
Of  one  forechosen  of  grand  destiny? 

In  field  or  forest  dell 
Did  he  not  prophesy  to  bird  and  brook. 
And  shape  vague  runes  of  what  was  yet  to  be  ? 

[210] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  G^AVE— [Continued] 

Born  in  the  midway  space  where  freedom  seemed 

To  sport  with  slavery,  and  half  way  o'er 

From  where  the  South  in  golden  luxury  dreamed 

To  that  old  rock  of  Plymouth  on  the  shore 

Made  holy  by  the  touch  of  pilgrim  feet, 

He  gi-ew  to  stature  of  the  largest  mould, 

A  stalwart  burden-bearer  trudging  on 

And  up  to  that  high  seat. 
Which  never  more  the  like  of  him  shall  hold, 
Over  rough  ways,  through  pain  and  sorrow  drawn. 


Giant  of  frame,  of  soul  superbly  human, 
Best  measure  of  true  greatness  measures  him; 
Crude  might  of  man,  the  native  sweet  of  woman, 
The  immanence  of  destiny  strange  and  dim, 
Brawn-building  labour  with  the  axe  and  maul. 
Braced  and  enriched  him  to  the  uttermost, 
And  filled  those  founts  that  wisdom  bubbles  from, 

Made  him  so  kingly  tall. 
So  notable  of  mien  'mid  any  host, 
The  leader  and  the  master  strong  and  calm. 


He,  the  last  product  and  the  highest  power 
Of  elemental  righteousness  and  worth, 
Gave  all  his  life,  that  in  Time's  darkest  hour, 
Dear  Freedom  should  not  perish  from  the  earth, 

[211] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  G'RAVE— [Continued] 

And  steadfast  in  the  centre  of  the  storm, 
Grim  as  a  panther  for  its  cubs  at  bay, 
He  was  the  one,  the  fixed,  the  president. 

The  overtowering  form. 
That  broke  the  bolts  of  every  thunderous  day, 
And  made  itself  the  nation's  battlement. 

Set  for  the  right  his  vision  absolute 

Compassed  all  charity,  nor  failed  to  see 

That  highest  sense  of  right  may  constitute 

Grant's  glory  and  the  noble  strength  of  Lee; 

His  eyes  were  never  narrowed  to  the  line 

By  which  the  bigot  gauges  every  look; 

In  Sherman's  will,  in  Stonewall  Jackson's  prayer 

He  felt  the  force  divine 
Wherewith  the  soul  of  loftiest  manhood  shook 
When  war  with  its  wild  glamour  filled  the  air. 

While  all  the  world  on  Freedom  gazed  askance. 

Ere  yet  more  than  her  shadowy  form  they  saw. 

He  spoke  the  foresay  and  significance. 

The  finest  intimation  of  her  law; 

Wisdom  so  tender,  justice  so  kind  and  good, 

The  warm  appeal  of  limitless  faith  in  man. 

The  goal  toward  which  our  widening  cycle  rolls, 

The  perfect  brotherhood; 
These  flushed  his  spirit ;  and  with  him  began 
The  universal  leagTie  of  human  souls. 

[212] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  GRAVE— [Continued] 

Speak  not  of  accident  or  circumstance, 

He  was  the  genius  of  primeval  man 

Evolved  anew,  despite  the  waves  of  chance; 

Along  his  nerves  the  human  current  ran. 

Pure  as  the  old  far  fountain  in  the  shade 

Of  God's  first  trees.     He  knew  the  score  right  well, 

And  note  by  note,  of  Nature's  simple  staff, 

Yodled  in  grove  and  glade; 
He  loved  the  story  and  the  honest  laugh, 
The  rustic  song,  the  sounds  of  field  and  fell. 


His  humour,  born  of  virile  opulence, 

Stung  like  a  pungent  sap  or  wild-fruit  zest. 

And  satisfied  a  universal  sense 

Of  manliness,  the  strongest  and  the  best; 

A  soft  Kentucky  strain  was  in  his  voice. 

And  the  Ohio's  deeper  boom  was  there, 

With  some  wild  accents  of  old  Wabash  days, 

And  winds  of  Illinois; 
And  when  he  spake  he  took  us  unaware 
With  his  high  courage  and  unselfish  ways. 


And  fresh  from  God  he  had  the  godlike  power 
Of  universal  sympathy  with  life, 
Or  high  or  low ;  he  knew  the  day  and  hour, 
Felt  every  motive  actuating  strife, 

[213] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  G'R AVE— [Continued] 

Lived  on  both  sides  of  every  aspiration, 
And  saw  how  men  could  differ  and  be  right, 
How  from  all  points  the  waves  of  truth  are  driven 

To  one  last  destination; 
How  prayer  that  battles  prayer  with  awful  might 
Eternally  tempestuous  rolls  to  heaven. 

He  heard  the  rending  of  the  bonds  of  love, 
And  he  was  rent  with  every  snapping  strand ; 
Toppled  the  temple's  base  and  dome  above, 
YawTied  a  black  chasm  across  our  lovely  land; 
And  yet  he  could  not  let  the  fragments  go. 
Or  loose  his  hold  on  that  firm  unity 
Welded  at  Valley  Forge  and  Bunker  Hill; 

He  heard  the  bugles  blow 
On  either  side,  and  yet  how  could  it  be  ? 
He  prayed  for  peace,  forbore  and  trusted  still! 

He  was  the  Southern  mother  leaning  forth 

At  dead  of  night  to  hear  the  cannon  roar. 

Beseeching  God  to  turn  the  cruel  North 

And  break  it  that  her  son  might  come  once  more; 

He  was  ISTew  England's  maiden  pale  and  pure. 

Whose  gallant  lover  fell  on  Shiloh's  plain; 

He  was  the  mangled  body  of  the  dead; 

He  writhing  did  endure 
Wounds  and  disfig-urement  and  racking  pain, 
Gangi-ene  and  amputation,  all  things  dread. 

[214] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  GRAVE— [Continued] 

He  was  the  North,  the  South,  the  East,  the  West, 

The  thrall,  the  master,  all  of  us  in  one; 

There  was  no  section  that  he  held  the  best; 

His  love  shone  as  impartial  as  the  sun; 

And  so  revenge  appealed  to  him  in  vain, 

He  smiled  at  it,  as  at  a  thing  forlorn, 

And  gently  put  it  from  him,  rose  and  stood 

A  moment's  space  in  pain, 
Kememhering  the  prairies  and  the  corn 
And  the  glad  voices  of  the  field  and  wood. 


Oh,  every  bullet-shock  went  to  his  heart. 
And  every  orphan's  cry  that  followed  it, 
In  every  slave's  wild  hope  he  bore  a  part, 
"With  every  master's  pang  his  face  was  lit ; 
But  yet,  unfaltering,  he  kept  the  faith, 
Trusted  the  inner  light  and  drove  right  on 
Straight  toward  his  golden  purpose  shining  high 

Beyond  the  field  of  death. 
Beyond  the  trumpets  and  the  gonfalon. 
Beyond  the  war-clouds  and  the  blackened  sky. 


Annealed  in  white-hot  fire  he  bore  the  test 
Of  every  strain  temptation  could  invent, 
Hard  points  of  slander,  shivered  on  his  breast, 
Fell  at  his  feet,  and  envy's  blades  were  bent 

[215] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  GRAVE— [Cowtmtterf] 

In  his  bare  hand  and  lightly  cast  aside; 
He  would  not  wear  a  shield;  no  selfish  aim 
Guided  one  thought  of  all  those  trying  hours ; 

1^0  breath  of  pride, 
'No  pompous  striving  for  the  pose  of  fame 
Weakened  one  stroke  of  all  his  noble  powers. 

And  so,  vicariously  all  suffering. 

Over  stupendous  ills  he  rose  supreme. 

Set  Freedom  free,  made  that  a  real  thing 

Which  all  the  world  had  thought  a  splendid  dream ! 

Across  the  red  and  booming  tide  of  war 

He  sped  the  evangel  of  eternal  right. 

The  message  brave  that  broke  the  ancient  spell 

And  rang  and  echoed  far; 
Above  the  battle  at  its  stormiest  height 
He  heard  each  chain  of  slavery  as  it  fell! 

And  then  when  Peace  set  wing  upon  the  wind 
And  Northward  flying  fanned  the  clouds  away, 
He  passed  as  martyrs  pass.     Ah,  who  shall  find 
The  chord  to  sound  the  pathos  of  that  day ! 
Mid-April  blowing  sweet  across  the  land, 
New  bloom  of  freedom  opening  to  the  world. 
Loud  paeans  of  the  homeward-looking  host. 

The  salutations  grand 
From  grimy  guns,  the  tattered  flags  unfurled; 
But  he  must  sleep  to  all  the  glory  lost! 

[216] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  GB,AYE— [Continued} 

Sleep!   Loss!   But  there  is  neither  sleep  nor  loss, 

And  all  the  glory  mantles  him  about; 

Above  his  breast  the  precious  banners  cross, 

Does  he  not  hear  his  armies  tramp  and  shout? 

Oh,  every  kiss  of  mother,  wife  or  maid 

Dashed  on  the  gTizzly  lip  of  veteran, 

Comes  forthright  to  that  calm  and  quiet  mouth. 

And  will  not  be  delayed, 
And  every  slave,  no  longer  slave  but  man, 
Sends  up  a  blessing  from  the  broken  South. 


Shall  we  forget  what  other  slaves  to-day 

Delve,  freeze  and  starve  and  wear  the  iron  chain? 

What  women  feel  the  lash,  what  children  pray 

For  mother,  father,  home,  and  pray  in  vain? 

Beware  of  treaties  with  a  tyrant  power. 

One  manly  peasant's  worth  a  thousand  Tzars, 

One  woman  struck  calls  for  a  million  sabres! 

Ring,  ring,  O  golden  hour, 
Forseen  of  patriots  in  a  myriad  wars ! 
Great  soul,  march  on  and  end  thy  glorious  labours! 


Hero  and  hind,  thy  strong,  familiar  pace, 
Outreaching  Time,  is  that  the  world  must  take, 
If  it  shall  find  at  last  the  lofty  place 
Where  Glory  flames  and  Freedom's  banners  shake! 

[217] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  GRAVE— [Continued] 

Imperial  hands,  that  never  touched  the  helve 

Of  plough  or  hoe,  may  glove  themselves  in  scorn, 

At  mention  of  those  palms  so  hard  and  brown, 

Those  knuckles  formed  to  delve; 
But  what  empurpled  despot  ever  born 
Could  buy  one  whiff  of  freedom  with  a  crown? 

Oh,  nevermore  the  tide  of  life  shall  turn 
Backward  upon  the  dark  and  savage  past; 
The  flame  he  lit  shall  grow  and  stronger  burn 
With  incense  farther  blowing  to  the  last! 
Why  build  for  him  a  monument  or  tomb, 
Or  carve  his  name  on  any  temple's  stone, 
Or  speak  of  him  as  one  whose  soul  has  fled? 

!N"o  mausoleum's  gloom, 
'No  minster  space,  no  pyramid  grand  and  lone. 
Can  shut  on  him  or  prove  that  he  is  dead. 

He  is  not  dead.     France  knows  he  is  not  dead; 
He  stirs  strong  hearts  in  Spain  and  Germany, 
In  far  Siberian  mines  his  words  are  said. 
He  tells  the  English  Ireland  shall  be  free, 
He  calls  poor  serfs  about  him  in  the  night, 
And  whispers  of  a  power  that  laughs  at  kings. 
And  of  a  force  that  breaks  the  strongest  chain; 

Old  tyranny  feels  his  might 
Tearing  away  its  deepest  fastenings,  ' 

And  jewelled  sceptres  threaten  him  in  vain. 

[218] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  G'RAVK— [Continued] 

Years  pass  away,  but  freedom  does  not  pass, 

Thrones  crumble,  but  man's  birthright  crumbles  not, 

And,  like  the  wind  across  the  prairie  grass, 

A  whole  world's  aspirations  fan  this  spot 

With  ceaseless  panting  after  liberty, 

One  breath  of  which  would  make  dark  Eussia  fair. 

And  blow  sweet  summer  through  the  exile's  cave, 

And  set  the  exile  free; 
For  which  I  pray,  here  in  the  open  air 
Of  Freedom's  morning-tide,  by  Lincoln's  grave. 

Maubice  Thompson 


[219] 


VIII.     LINCOLN  IN  MEMORIAL 


*'The  hand  that  shapes  us  Lincoln  must  he  strong 

As  his  that  righted  our  bequeathed  wrong; 

The  heart  that  shows  us  Lincoln  must  he  hrave. 

An  equal  comrade  unto  king  or  slave; 

The  mind  that  gives  us  Lincoln  must  he  clear 

As  that  of  seer 
To  fathom  deeps  of  faith  abiding  under  tides  of  fear.' 


STATUE    OF   ABRAHAM    LIXCOLN    BY    AUGUSTUS 
SAINT-GAUDENS,  IN   LINCOI.X    PARK, 
CHICAGO,   ILLINOIS 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


SAINT-GAUDENS'  LINCOLN 

I  WEPT  by  Lincoln's  pall  when  children's  tears, 
That  saddest  of  the  nation's  years, 
Were  reckoned  in  the  census  of  her  grief; 

And,  flooding  every  eye, 

Of  low  estate  or  high, 
The  crystal  sign  of  sorrow  made  men  peers. 

The  raindrop  on  the  April  leaf 
Was  not  more  unashamed.     Hand  spoke  to  hand 
A  universal  language;  and  whene'er 
The  hopeful  met  'twas  but  to  mingle  their  despair. 

Our  yesterday's  war-widowed  land 
To-day  was  orphaned.     Its  victorious  voice 
Lost  memory  of  the  power  to  rejoice. 
For  he  whom  all  had  learned  to  love  was  prone. 
The  weak  had  slain  the  mighty;  by  a  whim 
The   ordered   edifice   was   overthrown 
And  lay  in  futile  ruin,  mute  and  dim. 

O  Death,  thou  sculptor  without  art, 

What  didst  thou  to  the  Lincoln  of  our  heart? 

Where  was  the  manly  eye 

That  conquered   enmity  ? 

Where  was  the  gentle  smilo 

So  innocent  of  guile — 

[223] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


SAINT-GAUDENS'  LmCOLls!— [Continued] 

The  message  of  good-will 

To  all  men,  whether  good  or  ill? 

Where  shall  we  trace 
Those  treasured  lines,  half  humour  and  half  pain, 
That  made  him  doubly  brother  to  the  race? 
For  these,  O  Death,  we  search  thy  mask  in  vain! 


Yet  shall  the  future  be  not  all  bereft: 
Not  without  witness  shall  its  eyes  be  left. 
The  soul,  again,  is  visible  through  Art, 
Servant  of  God  and  Man.     The  immortal  part 
Lives  in  the  miracle  of  a  kindred  mind, 
That  found  itself  in  seeking  for  its  kind. 
The  humble  by  the  humble  is  discerned; 
And  he  whose  melancholy  broke  in  sunny  wit 
Could  be  no  stranger  unto  him  who  turned 
From  sad  to  gay,  as  though  in  jest  he  learned 
Some  mystery  of  sorrow.    It  was  writ: 


The  hand  that  shapes  us  Lincoln  must  he  strong 
As  his  that  righted  our  bequeathed  wrong; 
The  heart  that  shows  u^  Lincoln  must  he  hrave. 
An  equal  comrade  unto  king  or  slave; 
The  mind  that  gives  u^  Lincoln  must  he  clear 

As  that  of  seer 
To  fathom  deeps  of  faith  ahiding  under  tides  of  fear. 

[224] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


SAINT-GAUDENS'  LmCOLN—lContm'ued] 

What  wonder  Fame,  impatient,  will  not  wait 

To  call  her  sculptor  great 
Who  keeps  for  us  in  bronze  the  soul  that  saved  the  State ! 

RoBEET  Underwood  Johnson 

From  his  Saint-Gaudens :  an  Ode   (New  York:  Published  by  the 
Author). 


[225] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ON  SAINT-GAUDENS'  STATUE  OF  LINCOLN 

A  LITTLE  group  of  merry  children  played 
Around  the  statue's  base,  where,  gaunt  and  tall, 

His  image  stands — the  bronze  memorial 
Unto  his  greatness  that  Saint-Gaudens  made — 
In  thoughtful  posture,   carelessly  arrayed 

In  loose,  ill-fitting  clothes,  that  somehow  fall 
In  graceful  lines — as  one  wrapped  in  a  thrall 
Of  thought,  who  pauses,  sad,  yet  undismayed. 
And  on  the  sad,  calm  face,  where  deep  lines  tell 

His  suffering  and  unimagined  wo, 
I  fancied  as  their  laughter  rose  and  fell 

A  smile  played  'round  his  lips  with  sad,  sweet  glow- 
A  smile  like  His  who  in  far  Galilee 
Said,  "Let  the  little  children  come  to  me." 

Fkedeeick  Bukton  Eddy 


[226] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ON  A  BUST  OF  LINCOLN 

THIS  was  a  man  of  miglity  mould 
Who  walked  erewliile  our  earthly  ways, 
Fashioned  as  leaders  were  of  old 
In  the  heroic  days! 

Mark  how  austere  the  rugged  height 

Of  brow — a  will  not  wrought  to  bend ! 

Yet  in  the  eyes  behold  the  light 
That  made  the  foe  a  friend! 

Sagacious  he  beyond  the  test 

Of  quibbling  schools  that  praise  or  ban; 
Supreme  in  all  the  broadest,  best, 

We  hail  American. 

When  bronze  is  but  as  ash  to  flame, 

And  marble  but  as  wind-blown  chaff, 

Still  shall  the  lustre  of  his  name 
Stand  as  his  cenotaph! 

Clinton  Scollaed 


[227] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ON  A  BRONZE  MEDAL  OF  LINCOLN 

Victor  D.  Brenner's 

THIS  bronze  our  noble  Lincoln's  head  doth  bear; 
Behold  the  strength  and  splendour  of  that  face, 
So  homely-beautiful,  with  just  a  trace 
0f  humour  lightening  its  look  of  care. 
With  bronze  indeed  his  memory  doth  share, 

This  martyr  who  found  freedom  for  a  Eace; 
Both  shall  endure  beyond  the  time  and  place 
That  knew  them  first,  and  brighter  grow  with  wear. 
Happy  must  be  the  genius  here  that  wrought 
These  features  of  the  great  American 

Whose  fame  lends  so  much  glory  to  our  past — 
Happy  to  know  the  inspiration  caught 

From  this  most  human  and  heroic  man 

Lives  here  to  honour  him  while  Art  shall  last. 
Feank  Dempstee  Sheeman 


[228] 


THE    CENTENNIAL    MEDAL    OF   LINCOLN    IN    BRONZE 
BY   VICTOR   D.    BRENNER 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

NOT  one  of  all  earth's  wise  and  good 
Hath  earned  a  purer  gi-atitude 
Than  the  great  Soul  whose  hallowed  dust 
This  structure  holds  in  sacred  trust. 

How  fierce  the  strife  that  rent  the  land, 
When  he  was  summoned  to  command ; 
With  what  wise  care  he  led  us  through 
The  fearful  storms  that  'round  us  blew. 

Calm,   patient,  hopeful,   undismayed. 

He  met  the  angry  hosts  arrayed 

For  bloody  war,  and  overcame 

Their  haughty  power  in  Freedom's  name. 

'Mid  taunts  and  doubts,  the  bondsman's  chain 
With  gentle  force  he  cleft  in  twain, 
And  raised  four  million  slaves  to  be 
The  chartered  sons  of  Liberty. 

No  debt  he  owed  to  wealth  or  birth ; 
By  force  of  solid,  honest  worth 
He  climbed  the  topmost  height  of  fame, 
And  wrote  thereon  a  spotless  name. 

[229] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN— [Cowfinwed] 

Oh !  when  the  felon  hand  laid  low 
That  sacred  head,  a  sudden  wo 
Shot  to  the  N"ation's  farthest  bound. 
And  every  bosom  felt  the  wound. 

Well  might  the  Nation  bow  in  grief, 
And  weep  above  the  fallen  chief, 
Who  ever  strove,  by  word  or  pen, 
For  "peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men." 

The  people  loved  him,  for  they  knew 
Each  pulse  of  his  large  heart  was  true 
To  them,  to  Freedom,  and  the  right. 
Unswayed  by  gain,  unawed  by  might. 

This  tomb,  by  loving  hands  up-piled 
To  him,  the  merciful  and  mild, 
From  age  to  age  shall  carry  down 
The  glory  of  his  great  renown. 

As  the  long  centuries  onward  flow, 

As  generations  come  and  go. 

Wide  and  more  wide  his  fame  shall  spread, 

And  greener  laurels  crown  his  head. 

And  when  this  pile  is  fallen  to  dust. 
Its  bronzes  crumbled  into  rust. 
Thy  name,  O  Lincoln!  still  shall  be 
Revered  and  loved  from  sea  to  sea. 
[230] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN— [Continued] 

India's  swart  millions,  'neath  their  palms 
Shall  sing  thy  praise  in  grateful  psalms, 
And  crowds  by  Congo's  turbid  wave 
Shall  bless  the  hand  that  freed  the  slave. 

Shine  on,  O  Star  of  Freedom,  shine, 
Till  all  the  realms  of  earth  are  thine; 
And  all  the  tribes  through  countless  days 
Shall  bask  in  thy  benignant  rays. 

Lord  of  the  ^N'ations !  grant  us  still 
Another  patriot  sage,  to  fill 
The  seat  of  power,  and  save  the  State 
From  selfish  greed.     For  this  we  wait. 

JoHisr  H.  Bryant 

This  poem  was  read  by  the  author  (brother  of  William  Cullen 
Bryant)  at  the  ceremonies  in  Springfield  on  the  eighteenth  anni- 
versary of  the  death  of  Lincoln. 


[231] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LIFE-MASK  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

THIS  bronze  doth  keep  the  very  form  and  mould 
Of  our  great  martyr's  face.     Yes,  this  is  he: 
That  brow  all  wisdom,  all  benignity; 
That  human,   humorous  mouth;   those  cheeks   that 
hold 
Like  some  harsh  landscape  all  the  summer's  gold; 
That  spirit  fit  for  sorrow,  as  the  sea 
For  storms  to  beat  on;  the  lone  agony 
Those  silent,  patient  lips  too  well  foretold. 
Yes,  this  is  he  who  ruled  a  world  of  men 

As  might  some  prophet  of  the  elder  day — 
Brooding  above  the  tempest  and  the  fray 
With  deep-eyed  thought  and  more  than  mortal  ken. 
A  power  was  his  beyond  the  touch  of  art 
Or  armed  strength — his  pure  and  mighty  heart. 

KicHAED  Watson  Gildee 


[232] 


THE   LIFE    BFASK    OF   T.TXCOLX    RV    I.F.OXAIil)    K.    VOI.K 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  EMANCIPATION  GROUP 

AMIDST  thy  sacred  effigies 
Of  old  renown  give  place, 
O  city,  Freedom-loved!  to  his 

Whose  hand   unchained   a   race. 

Take  the  worn  frame,  that  rested  not 

Save  in  a  martyr's  grave; 
The  care-lined  face,  that  none  forgot. 

Bent  to  the  kneeling  slave. 

Let  man  be  free !  The  mighty  word 
He  spake  was  not  his  own; 

An  impulse  from  the  Highest  stirred 
These  chiselled  lips  alone. 

The  cloudy  sign,  the  fiery  guide, 

Along  his  pathway  ran, 
And  N'ature,  through  his  voice,  denied 

The  ownership  of  man. 

We  rest  in  peace  where  these  sad  eyes 
Saw  peril,  strife  and  pain; 

His  was  the  nation's  sacrifice. 
And  ours  the  priceless  gain. 

[233] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  EMANCIPATION  GHOUP—IC otitinued] 

O  symbol  of  God's  will  on  earth 

As  it  is  done  above! 
Bear  witness  to  the  cost  and  worth 

Of  justice  and  of  love. 

Stand  in  thy  place  and  testify 

To  coming  ages  long, 
That  truth  is  stronger  than  a  lie, 

And  righteousness  than  wrong. 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


[234] 


THE    EMAXCIPATIOX    GROUP   BY    THOMAS    BAI,T,,    IX    I.INCOT.X    PARK, 
WASHINGTON,  D.    C. 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN  STATUE 

Gutzon  Borglum,  Sculptor 

A  MAN  who  drew  his  strength  from  all, 
Because  of  all  a  part; 
He  led  with  wisdom,  for  he  knew 
The  common  heart. 

Its  hopes,  its  fears  his  eye  discerned, 
And,  reading,  he  could  share. 

Its  griefs  were  his,  its  burdens  were 
For  him  to  bear. 

Its  faith  that  wrong  must  sometime  yield. 

That  right  is  ever  right. 
Sustained  him  in  the  saddest  hour. 

The  darkest  night. 

In  patient  confidence  he  wrought, 

The  people's  will  his  guide, 
Nor  brought  to  his  appointed  task 

The  touch  of  pride. 

The  people's  man,  familiar  friend, 

Showm  by  the  sculptor's  art 
As  one  who  trusted,  one  who  knew 
The  common  heart. 

W.  F.  Collins 
[235] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


TO  BORGLUM'S  SEATED  STATUE  OF  ABRAHAM 

LINCOLN 

ALONE,  upon  the  broad  low  bench,  he  sits, 
From  carping  foes  and  friends  alike  withdrawn; 
With  tragic  patience  for  the  spirit  dawn 
He  waits,  yet  through  the  deep-set  eyes  hope  flits 
As  he  the  back  unto  the  burden  fits. 
Within  this  rugged  man  of  brains  and  brawn 
The  quiv'ring  nation's  high  powered  currents  drawn, 
As  waves  of  love  and  kindness  he  transmits. 

O  prairie  poet,  prophet,  children's  friend! 

Great  brained,  great  willed,  great  hearted  man  and  true, 

May  we,  like  thee,  in  prayerful  patience  plod 

With  courage  toward  the  wished  for,  peaceful  end! 

May  we  thy  helpful  friendliness  renew, 

Thou  war  worn  soul  communing  with  thy  God! 

Chaelotte  Beewster  Joedan" 


[236] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


"ONE  OF  OUR  PRESIDENTS" 

The  statue  of  Lincoln  at  Newark,  New  Jersey 

HE  sits  there  on  the  low,  rude,  backless  bench, 
With  his  tall  hat  beside  him  and  one  arm 
Flung  thus  across  his  knee.     The  other  hand 
Rests  flat,  palm-downward  by  him  on  the  seat. 
So  -^sop  may  have  sat ;  so  Lincoln  did. 
For  all  the  sadness  in  the  sunken  eyes, 
For  all  the  kingship  in  the  uncrowned  brow, 
The  gi'eat  form  leans  so  friendly  father-like, 
It  is  a  call  to  children.     I  have  watched 
Eight  at  a  time  swarming  upon  him  there, 
All  clinging  to  him — riding  upon  his  knees. 
Cuddling  between  his  arms,  clasping  his  neck. 
Perched  on  his  shoulders,  even  on  his  head; 
And  one  small,  play-stained  hand  I  saw  reach  up 
And  laid  most  softly  on  the  kind  bronze  lips 
As  if  it  claimed  them.     They  were  children  of — 
Of  foreigners  we  call  them,  but  not  so 
They  call  themselves ;  for  when  we  asked  of  one, 
A  restless,  dark-eyed  girl,  who  this  man  was. 
She  answered  straight,  "One  of  our  Presidents." 

"Let  all  the  winds  of  hell  blow  in  our  sails," 
I  thought,  "thank  God,  thank  God,  the  ship  rides  true!" 

Wendell  Phillips  Staffoed 

[237] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THEIR  LINCOLN 

CHILDEEIs^  loved  him  long  ago; 
And  the  children  of  the  street, 
Climbing  from  the  lawn  below, 
Gather  still  about  his  feet. 

Little  children,  black  or  white, 

Touch  his  hands  and  have  no  fear — 

Clamber  to  his  shoulder  height, 
Whisper  in  his  patient  ear. 

And  the  calm  and  kindly  eyes 

Seem,  in  them,  again  to  see 
All  the  hope  of  youth  that  lies 

In  the  child  race  he  set  free. 

Stephen  W.  Meadek 


[238]' 


At  almost  any  hour  of  the  day  children  may  he  seen  at  jilay  on  Borglum's 
statue  of  Lincoln,  which  is  set  low  in  front  of  the  Court  House  at  Newark, 
Xew  Jersey. 


STATUE   OF  ABRAHASr   I.IIfCOT.X    BY 
GUTZON  BORGI.UM,   IX    FRONT  OF 
THE   COURT  HOUSE,   XEWARK, 
NEW   JERSEY 

See  page  236 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN  STILL  LIVES 

THIS  mask  of  bronze  cannot  conceal  his  heart; 
The  lips  once  eloquent  here  speak  again; 
The  kindly  eyes,  where  tears  were  wont  to  start, 
Look  out  once  more  upon  the  haunts  of  men. 

His  image  fits  no  dim  cathedral  aisle, 

'Nor  leafy  shade,  nor  pedestal  upraised, 

But  here,  where  playful  children  rest  awhile 

Upon  his  knees,  whom  all  the  nations  praised. 

Great  in  his  strength,  yet  winsome  as  a  child. 

Quick  to  his  touch  the  childlike  heart  responds, 

As  when  his  mighty  hands,  all  undefiled, 

From   dark-hued   childhood's   limbs   struck   off   the 
bonds. 

O  Death,  unerring  as  your  arrows  be, 

High  as  the  hills  your  hecatombs  of  slain. 

Against  this  Child  of  Immortality, 

O  shame-faced  Death,  you  sped  your  shaft  in  vain. 

Charles  Mumford 


[239] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

HEROIC  soul,  in  homely  garb  half  hid, 
Sincere,  sagacious,  melancholy,  quaint; 
What  he  endured,  no  less  than  what  he  did, 

Has  reared  his  monument,  and  crowned  him  saint. 
John  Townsend  Trowbridge 


[240] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN  BOULDER 

Nyach,  N.  Y. 

O  MIGHTY  Boulder,  wrought  by  God's  own  hand, 
Throughout  all  future  ages  thou  shalt  stand 
A  monument  of  honour  to  the  brave 
Who  yielded  up  their  lives,  their  all,  to  save 
Our  glorious  country,  and  to  make  it  free 
From  bondsmen's  tears  and  lash  of  slavery. 

Securely  welded  to  thy  rugged  breast, 
Through  all  the  coming  ages  there  shall  rest 
Our  Lincoln's  tribute  to  a  patriot  band. 
The  noblest  ever  penned  by  human  hand. 

The  storms  of  centuries  mav  lash  and  beat 
Thy  granite  face  and  bronze  with  hail  and  sleet; 
But  futile  all  their  fury;  in  a  day 
The  loyal  sun  will  melt  them  all  away. 

Equal  in  death  our  gallant  heroes  sleep 
In  Southern  trench,  home  gTave,  and  ocean  deep; 
Equal  in  glory,  fadeless  as  the  light 
The  stars  send  do\\Ti  upon  them  through  the  night. 

[241] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN  BOULDER— [Continued'l 

O  priceless  heritage  for  us  to  keep 

Our  heroes'  fame  immortal  while  they  sleep! 

•  •  •  •  • 

O  God,  still  guide  us  with  Thy  loving  hand, 
Keep  and  protect  our  glorious  Fatherland. 

Louis  Beadford  Couch 


[242] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  HAND  OF  LINCOLN 

LOOK  on  this  cast,  and  know  the  hand 
That  bore  a  nation  in  its  hold: 
From  this  mute  witness  understand 

What  Lincoln  was — how  large  of  mould. 

The  man  who  sped  the  woodman's  team, 

And  deepest  sunk  the  ploughman's  share, 

And  pushed  the  laden  raft  astream, 
Of  fate  before  him  unaware. 

This  was  the  hand  that  knew  to  swing 

The  axe — since  thus  would  Freedom  train 

Her  son — and  made  the  forest  ring, 

And  drove  the  wedge,  and  toiled  amain. 

Firm  hand,  that  loftier  office  took, 
A  conscious  leader's  will  obeyed, 

And,  when  men  sought  his  word  and  look. 

With  steadfast  might  the  gathering  swayed. 

!N"o  courtier's,  toying  with  a  sword, 
'Nor  minstrel's,  laid  across  a  lute; 

A  chief's,  uplifted  to  the  Lord 

When  all  the  kings  of  earth  were  mute! 

[243] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  HAND  OF  LINCOLN— [Con finwed] 

The  hand  of  Anak,  sinewed  strong. 

The  fingers  that  on  greatness  clutch; 

Yet,  lo!  the  marks  their  lines  along 

Of  one  who  strove  and  suffered  much. 

For  here  in  knotted  cord  and  vein 

I  trace  the  varying  chart  of  years ; 

I  know  the  troubled  heart,  the  strain. 

The  weight  of  Atlas — and  the  tears. 

Again  I  see  the  patient  brow 

That  palm  erewhile  was  wont  to  press; 
And  now  'tis  furrowed  deep,  and  now 

Made  smooth  with  hope  and  tenderness. 

For  something  of  a  formless  grace 

This  moulded  outline  plays  about; 

A  pitying  flame  beyond  our  trace. 

Breathes  like  a  spirit,  in  and  out — 

The  love  that  cast  an  aureole 

Round  one  who,  longer  to  endure, 

Called  mirth  to  ease  his  ceaseless  dole, 
Yet  kept  his  nobler  purpose  sure. 

Lo,  as  I  gaze,  the  statured  man. 

Built  up  from  yon  large  hand,  appears; 
A  type  that  Nature  wills  to  plan 

But  once  in  all  a  people's  years. 
[244] 


THE   HANDS  OF  LINCOLN   IN   BRONZE   BY  LEONARD   K.   VOLK 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  HAND  OF  LINCOLN— [Continued] 

What  better  than  this  voiceless  cast 

To  tell  of  such  a  one  as  he, 
Since  through  its  living  semblance  passed 

The  thought  that  bade  a  race  be  free! 
Edmund  Clarence  Stedman 


[245] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BARNARD'S  STATUE  OF  LINCOLN 

THE  clay  again  has  found  a  dowered  hand 
To  shape  a  wonder.     Lo,  the  sculptor's  art 
Has  made  its  last  the  finest.     There  he  stands 
A  people's  idol!     This  is  masterpiece 
Of  man,  as  was  the  loved  original 
Of  God — invention's  triumph  for  life's  sake, 
Great  history  featured  by  great  artistry, 
A  poet's  allegory  wrought  in  bronze. 


This  is  a  symbol  of  democracy — 
A  towering  figure  risen  from  the  soil 
Ajid  keeping  the  earth  mould,  yet  so  informed 
By  spiritual  power  that  they  who  gaze 
Perceive  high  kinship  bearing  similar  stamp 
To  One  of  eld  from  whom  was  learned  the  way 
Of  wisdom  and  the  love  that  goes  to  death. 
And  this  is  commonalty  glorified — 
A  root  out  of  dry  ground,  but  watered 
By  those  inherent  and  ancestral  streams 
Whose  springs  are  in  the  furthest  heavenlies. 
And  this  is  nature's  haunting  miracle — 
The  lowly  dust  builded  to  pinnacles, 
The  earth-bound  soul  consorting  with  the  stars. 
[246] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BARXARD'S  STATUE  OF  LINCOJjN— [Continued] 

Unshapely  feet — but  they  were  such  as  trod 

The  winepress  of  God's  judgment  on  a  land, 

Were  such  as  clomb,  striding  through  storm  and  night, 

The  perilous  steeps  of  right,  leading  a  host. 

Ungainly  hands — but  they  were  such  as  plucked 

Thistles  and  planted  flowers  in  their  stead. 

Were  such  as  struck  hell's  irons  from  a  race 

And  open  swung  barred  gates  of  privilege. 

Unsightly  back — but  it  was  such  as  bore 

The  bruises  of  a  nation's  chastisement. 

For  see,  the  double  cross  welted  thereon, 

The  emblem  of  a  statesman's  Calvary! 

Uncomely  face — but  it  was  such  as  wore 

The  prints  of  vigil  and  the  scars  of  grief, 

A  face  more  marred  than  any  man's,  save  One, 

And  save  that  One  a  face  more  beautiful. 

Those  furrows,  deftly  moulded,  came  from  tears, 

The  visualising  of  vicarious  pain. 

That  writhed  curve  of  lips  marks  forced  control, 

Restraint  of  impulse  for  the  sake  of  duty. 

Those  intercessory  eyes  gaze  awesomely, 

Seeing  far  off  as  if  they  searched  God's  eyes 

For  covenant  vindication,  finding  it. 

Yon  brow,  it  bears  the  impress  of  a  Hand 

Upon  the  sculptor's,  that  historic  front 

May  show  receptive  to  divine  ideals. 

May  signal  truth's  elect  interpreter. 

[247] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BARNARD'S  STATUE  OF  JjINCOUi— [Continued} 

So  stands  he,  regnant  in  triumphant  bronze, 

A  spirit  mastering  fate  by  faith  and  love 

And  imaging  right's  lordship  o'er  the  world — 

So  stands  he,  Heaven  and  Earth's  great  commoner, 

God's  and  the  People's,  light  unto  the  nations, 

Lincoln  the  deathless,  Lincoln  the  beloved. 

Lyman  Whitney  Allen 

Dr.  Allen's  poem  of  interpretation  was  read  by  him,  following 
the  presentation  address  by  Hon.  William  Howard  Taft,  at  the  dedi- 
cation of  the  statue  in  Lytle  Park,  Cincinnati,  March  31,  1917. 


[248] 


I 


STATUE    OF   ABRAHAM   LINCOLN    BY   GEORGE   GREY   BARNARD, 
IN   LYTI.E    PARK,   CINCINNATI 


Seepage  246 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN,  1865-1915 

OTHOU  that  on  that  April  day 
Went  down  the  bitter  road  to  death, 
While  freedom  stumbled  on  her  way, 
Her  beacon  blown  out  with  a  breath — 

Look  back  upon  thy  people  now! 
Behold  the  work  thy  hands  have  wrought, 
The  conquest  of  thy  bleeding  brow, 
The  harvest  of  thy  sleepless  thought. 

From  sea  to  sea,  from  palm  to  pine, 
The  day  of  lord  and  slave  is  done ; 
The  wind  will  float  no  flag  but  thine; 
The  long-divided  house  is  one. 

More  proudly  will  Potomac  wind 
Past  thy  pure  temple  to  the  sea ; 
But,  all!  the  hearts  of  men  will  find 
No  marble  white  enough  for  thee ! 

Wendell  Phillips  Staffokd 


[249] 


IX,    THE  LIVING  LINCOLN 


"In  all  the  earth  his  great  heart  heats  as  strong. 
Shall  beat  while  pulses  throb  to  chivalry 

Arid  bum  with  hate  of  tyranny  and  wrong/ 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  CENOTAPH  OF  LINCOLN 

AJSID  so  they  buried  Lincoln?     Strange  and  vain! 
Has  any  creature  thought  of  Lincoln  hid 

In  any  vault,  'neath  any  coffin  lid, 
In  all  the  years  since  that  v^^ild  spring  of  pain? 
'Tis  false — he  never  in  the  grave  hath  lain. 

You  could  not  bury  him  although  you  slid 

Upon  his  clay  the  Cheops  pyramid 
Or  heaped  it  with  the  Kocky  Mountain  chain. 
They  slew  themselves ;  they  but  set  Lincoln  free. 
In  all  the  earth  his  great  heart  beats  as  strong, 
Shall  beat  while  pulses  throb  to  chivalry 

And  burn  with  hate  of  tyranny  and  wrong. 
Whoever  will  may  find  him  anywhere 
Save  in  the  tomb — not  there,  he  is  not  there. 

James  T.  Mackay 


[253] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

ITHIiNTK  he  is  not  dead — I  think  his  face 
Is  in  our  faces,  and  his  hands  grope  through 
Our  hands  when  we  do  any  kindnesses — 

And  when  we  dream  I  think  he  means  us  to. 

I  saw  a  man  stand  in  a  shrieking  street 

Preaching  a  hopeless  Cause.    Deep  in  his  eyes 

A  glory  flickered — and  I  knew  he  looked 

With  other  ecstasies  at  God's  mute  skies. 

He  was  a  workman,  risen  to  a  Dream; 

His  face  w^as  bitten  as  with  sharp-edged  swords — 
Yet  he  had  gathered  him  a  little  world 

From  life's  loud  street  to  hear  his  halting  words — 

And  we  who  listened,  bound  by  some  strange  awe. 

Sensed    the    vague    god    shine    through    the    dusty 
tramp. 

Saw  the  dim  Presence  kneeling  in  his  eyes. 

And  that,  I  think,  was  Lincoln  at  his  lamp. 

And  so  I  say  he  is  not  dead ;  not  he ! 

He  was  too  much  a  part  of  us  to  die. 
Deep  in  the  street  I  see  his  faces  go; 

His  light  is  in  my  neighbour  passing  by. 

Dana  Buknet 

[254] 


THE    PLASTER    MODEL    OF    THE    MEMORIAL    HALL 


ARCHITECT  S    DRAWING    SHOWIXG    THE    RELATION    OF   THE    MEMORIAL 
SITE  TO  THE    BIAI.L   AND   CAPITOL 


"Lincoln,  of  all  Americans  next  to  Washington,  deserves  tiiis  place  of  honor. 
He  was  of  the  immortals.  You  must  not  approach  too  close  to  the  immor- 
tals. His  monument  should  stand  alone,  remote  from  the  common  habita- 
tions of  men,  a|)art  from  the  l)usiness  and  turmoil  of  the  city — isolated, 
distinguished  and  serene." — John  Hay. 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

AND,  lo !  leading  a  blessed  host  comes  one 
Who  held  a  warring  nation  in  his  heart; 
Who  knew  love's  agony,  but  had  no  part 
In  love's  delight ;  whose  mighty  task  was  done 
Through  blood  and  tears  that  we  might  walk  in  joy, 
And  this  day's  rapture  own  no  sad  alloy. 
Around  him  heirs  of  bliss,  whose  bright  brows  wear 
Palm  leaves  amid  their  laurels  ever  fair. 
Gaily  they  come,  as  though  the  drum 
Beat  out  the  call  their  glad  hearts  knew  so  well; 
Brothers  once  more,  dear  as  of  yore. 
Who  in  a  noble  conflict  nobly  fell. 
Their  blood  washed  pure  yon  banner  in  the  sky. 
And  quenched  the  brands  laid  'neath  these  arches  high- 
The  brave  who,  having  fought,  can  never  die. 

Haeeiet  Moneoe 


The  above  is  from  "The  Columbian  Ode,"  written  by  Miss  Monroe 
at  the  request  of  the  Committee  on  Ceremonies  of  the  World's 
Columbian  Exposition.  The  Ode  was  read  and  sung  at  the  dedi- 
catory ceremonies  in  Chicago,  on  the  400th  anniversary  of  the  Dis- 
covery of  America,  Oct.  21,  1892. 


[255] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

MEN  call  him  great,  where  once  of  old 
They  called  him  despot,  ruthless,  cold, 
Like  hloody  cutlass  keen; 
His  brow,  that  now  the  wreath  adorns, 
Long  bore  the  crown  of  cruel  thorns 
Worn  by  the  Nazarene. 

Men  heard  his  soul  in  anguish  cry, 
And,  tho'  unworthy  to  untie 

The  very  shoes  he  wore, 
His  cup  of  grief  filled  to  the  brim. 
And  bade  him  drink  'til  stars  grow  dim 

On  the  eternal  shore. 

Full  arm'd  with  wisdom  forth  he  sprang. 
While  critics  curs'd  and  faint  praise  rang 

To  damn  his  noble  name; 
Yet  prophet-like  Time's  voice  still  rings: 
Make  straight  the  way,  a  king  of  kings 

Rides  down  the  path  of  fame. 

This  nation  long  as  time  shall  run 
Will  glory  in  this  South-born  son, 
[256] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOL'N— [Continued] 

Who  wrote  with  gifted  pen 
A  prophecy  of  that  fair  day 

When  God  shall  write  henceforth  for  aye: 
I'll  free  the  souls  of  men. 

Thomas  H.  Heendon 


[257] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

WHAT  answer  shall  we  make  to  them  that  seek 
The  living  vision  on  a  distant  shore? 
What  words  of  life  ?     The  nations  at  our  door 
Believing,  cry,  ''America  shall  speak!" 
We  are  the  strong  to  succour  them,  the  weak, 
We  are  the  healers  who  shall  health  restore. 
Dear  God !    Where  our  own  tides  of  conflict  pour, 
Who  shall  be  heard  above  the  din  and  shriek! 
Who,  brothers?     There  was  one  stood  undismayed 
'Mid  broil  of  battle  and  the  rancorous  strife, 
Searching  with  pitiful  eyes  the  souls  of  men. 
Our  martyr  calls  you,  wants  you!    Now  as  then 
The  oppressed  shall  hear  him  and  be  not  afraid ; 
And  Lincoln  dead  shall  lead  you  unto  life! 

Floeence  Kipek  Feank 


[258] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

MAN'S  saviours  are  men's  martyrs — eveu  thus 
It  hath  been  written,  and  must  ever  be; 
Souls  born  for  sacrifice  vicarious, 

They  bring  us  life,  and  we  repay  with  death, 
Whether  the  vision  that  their  sad  eyes  see, 
Portentous  with  the  ultimate  agony, 
Appear  in  Illinois  or  Nazareth. 

So  also  Lincoln,  steadfast,  gentle,  strong, 

Both  human  and  divine,  to  whom  God  yet 
Gave  the  glad  triumph,  and  withheld  the  long 
Ordeal  of  the  aftermath.     Because 
Of  that  no  man  can  ponder  with  regi-et 
Upon  his  end:  serene  at  last,  he  met 

Death  in  the  first,  swift  moment  of  applause. 

He  is  not  ours  to  mourn,  nor  ours  to  praise — 

Not  the  great  North  that  set  upon  his  brow 
Its  laurels;  nor  the  South  that,  in  the  days 

Of  conflict,  faced  the  grim-detei*mined  odds 
Destined  to  conquer,  impotent  to  cow; 
Nor  all  America  can  claim  him  now: 

Forevermore  he  is  Mankind's  and  God's. 

Reginald  Weight  Kauffman 

[259] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

SAY — if  men  ask  for  him — he  has  gone  home, 
Home  to  the  hearts  of  all  that  love  their  kind; 
And  they  that  seek  him  there,  henceforth,  shall  find 
Their  man  of  men — in  all  men's  hearts  at  home. 
The  Mother  made  him  from  her  common  loam. 
And  from  her  world-wide  harvest  filled  his  mind, 
Poured  by  all  paths,  that  from  all  quarters  wind, 
As  in  old  days  all  highways  poured  to  Rome. 
She  said:     "I  make  a  universal  man, 
Warmed  with  all  laughter,  tempered  with  all  tears. 
Whose  word  and  deed  shall  have  the  force  of  fate. 
I  made  not  seven  in  all,  since  time  began. 
Of  men  like  these.     They  last  a  thousand  years. 
They  have  the  power  to  will,  the  will  to  wait." 

Wendell  Phillips  Stafford 


[260] 


HEAD   OF   ABRAHAM   I.INCOI.X    IN    MARBLE 

BY   GUTZON    BORGLUM, 

IN  THE   ROTUNDA   OF   THE    NATIOXAl,   CAIMTOI. 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  MAN  LINCOLN 

NOT  as  the  great  who  grow  more  great 
Until  they  are  from  us  apart — 
He  walks  with  us  in  man's  estate ; 

We  know  his  was  a  brother  heart. 
The  marching  years  may  render  dim 

The  humanness  of  other  men, 
To-day  we  are  akin  to  him 

As  they  who  knew  him  best  were  then. 

Wars  have  been  won  by  mail-clad  hands, 

Realms  have  been  ruled  by  sword-hedged 
kings, 
But  he  above  these  others  stands 

As  one  who  loved  the  common  things; 
The  common  faith  of  man  was  his, 

The  common  faith  in  man  he  had — 
For  this  to-day  his  brave  face  is 

A  face  half  joyous  and  half  sad. 

A  man  of  earth !    Of  earthy  stuff, 

As  honest  as  the  fruitful  soil, 
Gnarled  as  the  friendly  trees,  and  rough 

As  hillsides  that  had  known  his  toil; 

[261] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  MAN  LINCOLN— [Conh-juted] 

Of  earthy  stuif — let  it  be  told, 

For  earth-born  men  rise  and  reveal 

A  courage  fair  as  beaten  gold 

And  the  enduring  strength  of  steel. 

So  now  he  dominates  our  thought, 

This  humble  great  man  holds  us  thus 
Because  of  all  he  dreamed  and  wrought, 

Because  he  is  akin  to  us. 
He  held  his  patient  trust  in  truth 

While  God  was  working  out  His  plan, 
And  they  that  were  his  foes,  forsooth, 

Came  to  pay  tribute  to  the  Man. 

iNot  as  the  great  who  grow  more  great 

Until  they  have  a  mystic  fame — 
2^0  stroke  of  pastime  nor  of  fate 

Gave  Lincoln  his  undying  name. 
A  common  man,  earth-bred,  earth-born. 

One  of  the  breed  who  work  and  wait — 
His  was  a  soul  above  all  scorn, 

His  was  a  heart  above  all  hate. 

WiLBUE  D.  N'esbit 


[262] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

ONE  time  I  touched,  with  reverence,  the  cast 
Of  his  God-guided  hand.     One  time  I  gazed 
Through  tears,  upon  the  mask  of  that  sad  face — 
Graven  with  grief,  yet  how  it  glowed  with  courage! 
And  once  my  fingers  trembled  as  they  held 
The  handkerchief  he  carried  that  last  night — 
A  drop  of  his  own  blood  has  hallowed  it. 
Men  I  have  known  who  knew  and  talked  with  him, 
And  lately  spoke  with  one  who  stood  close  by 
When,  on  the  field  of  Gettysburg,  he  read — 
"As  one  might  read  a  letter  to  his  children" — 
His  brief,  immortal  tribute  to  those  heroes 
Who  did  not  die  in  vain.     Thus  have  I  come 
Within  the  mortal  radius  of  that  life 
Whose  shortened  day  now  spans  Eternity. 

However  much  to  me,  all  this  is  little. 
And  words  that  tell  of  it  are  merely  shadows 
Which  fade,  like  night,  before  the  radiant  sun 
Of  his  vast  love  and  wisdom — he,  a  prophet. 
Pointing  the  way  t>hrough  broken  bonds  of  serfdom 
To  a  still  higher  freedom;  striking  shackles 
From  minds  enslaved  by  Fear  and  Greed  and  Hatred- 
Seeing,  through  angry  storm-clouds  of  rebellion 

[2G3] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABEAHAM  LINCOLN— [Continued] 

And  evil  mists  of  enmity  and  malice, 

The  noblest  state  of  what  our  fathers  fought  for- 

A  government  of,  by  and  for  the  people ! — 

The  only  fit  memorial  for  him. 


For  him  who  showed  that  birth  is  high  or  lowly 

Only  as  deeds  and  character  decree; 

That  Love  and  Laughter  are  the  master  levers; 

That  Heart  is,  after  all,  arch  counsellor! — 

A  jesting  spirit  with  a  heart  of  tears. 

Who  started  lonely  down  the  road  of  life 

Serene  and  unafraid ;  who  saw  the  need 

For  common  sense  and  courage — constant  need 

Which  still  abides — and  seeing,  took  his  place 

And  played  his  part  with  fortitude  past  praise. 


For  all  that  we  can  say  or  sing  of  him 
Is  lost  like  star-light  in  the  cloudless  noon 
Of  all  he  was  and  did !    Only  when  we 
Turn  from  vain  boasts  and  chanted  glorying 
To  frankly  own  our  myriad  mistakes 
And,  with  the  sword  his  spirit  has  unsheathed, 
Fight  for  the  rights  of  man  as  paramount 
To  any  other  holdings  under  heaven; 
Only  when  we  forget,  as  he  forgot, 
The  paltry  things  that  wither  in  the  plucking, 
[264] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LIN COLN— [Continued] 

And  dedicate  hearth,  soul  and  strength  of  being 
To  Truth — however  large  the  sacrifice — 
Can  we  begin  to  fitly  praise  this  soul 
Which  shines  for  Equity  in  deathless  day! 

Leigh  Mitchell  Hodges 


[265] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


TO  THE  SPIRIT  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

Reunion  at  Gettyshurg,  twenty-five  years  after  the 

battle 

SHADE  of  our  greatest,  O  look  down  to-day! 
Here  the  long,  dread  midsummer  battle  roared, 
And  brother  in  brother  plunged  the  accursed  sword ; 
Here  foe  meets  foe  once  more  in  proud  array, 

Yet  not  as  one  to  harry  and  to  slay, 

But  to  strike  hands,  and  with  sublime  accord 
Weep  tears  heroic  for  the  souls  that  soared 
Quick  from  earth's  carnage  to  the  starry  way. 

Each  fought  for  what  he  deemed  the  people's  good, 
And  proved  his  bravery  by  his  offered  life. 
And  sealed  his  honour  with  his  outpoured  blood ; 

But  the  Eternal  did  direct  the  strife. 

And  on  this  sacred  field  one  patriot  host 
Now  calls  thee  father — dear,  majestic  ghost! 

KiCHAED  Watson  Gilder 


[266] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 


I. 


LKE  a  gaunt,  scraggly  pine 
Which  lifts  its  head  above  the  mournful  sandhills; 
And  patiently,  through  dull  years  of  bitter  silence, 
Untended  and  uncared  for,  starts  to  grow. 

Ungainly,  labouring,  huge, 

The    wind    of    the    north    has    twisted    and    gnarled    its 

branches ; 
Yet  in  the  heat  of  midsummer  days,  when  thunderclouds 

ring  the  horizon, 
A  nation  of  men  shall  rest  beneath  its  shade. 

And  it  shall  protect  them  all, 

Hold  every  one  safe  there,  watching  aloof  in  silence; 
Until  at  last  one  mad  stray  bolt  from  the  zenith 
Shall  strike  it  in  an  instant  down  to  earth. 

II. 

There  was   a   darkness   in   this  man;    an   immense   and 

hollow  darkness, 
Of  which  we  may  not  speak,  nor  share  with  him,  nor 

enter ; 

[2G7] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


lANCOLN— [Continued] 

A  darkness  through  which  strong  roots  stretclied  down- 
wards into  the  earth 
Towards  old  things; 

Towards  the  herdman-kings  who  walked  the  earth  and 

spoke  with.  God, 
.  Towards  the  wanderers  who  sought  for  they  knew  not 

what,  and  found  their  goal  at  last; 
Towards  the  men  who  waited,  only  waited  patiently  when 

all  seemed  lost 
Many  bitter  winters  of  defeat; 

Down  to  the  granite  of  patience 

These  roots  swept,  knotted,  fibrous  roots,  prying,  piercing, 

seeking, 
And  drew  from  the  living  rock  and  the  living  waters 

about  it 
The  red  sap  to  carry  upwards  to  the  sun. 

'Not  proud,  but  humble, 

Only  to  serve  and  pass  on,  to  endure  to  the  end  through 

service ; 
For  the  axe  is  laid  at  the  roots  of  the  trees,  and  all  that 

bring  not  forth  good  fruit 
Shall  be  cut  down  on  the  day  to  come  and  cast  into  the 

fire. 
[268] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN— [Continued] 

III. 

There  is  a  silence  abroad  in  the  land  today, 
And  in  the  hearts  of  men,  a  deep  and  anxious  silence; 
And,  because  we  are  still  at  last,  those  bronze  lips  slowly- 
open, 
Those  hollow  and  weary  eyes  take  on  a  gleam  of  light. 

Slowly  a  patient,  firm-syllabled  voice  cuts  through  the 

endless  silence 
Like  labouring  oxen  that  drag  a  plough  through  the  chaos 

of  rude  clay-fields: 
I  went  forward  as  the  light  goes  forward  in  early  spring, 
But  there  were  also  many  things  which  I  left  behind. 

Tombs  that  were  quiet; 

One,   of   a  mother,   whose  brief  light  went  out  in  the 

darkness, 
One,  of  a  loved  one,  the  snow  on  whose  grave  is  long 

falling, 
One,  only  of  a  child,  but  it  was  mine. 

Have  you  forgot  your  graves?     Go,   question  them   iri 

anguish. 
Listen  long  to  their  unstirred  lips.     From  your  hostages 

to  silence. 
Learn  there  is  no  life  without  death,  no  dawn  without 

sunsetting, 
Kg  victory  but  to  him  who  has  given  all. 

[269] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


hlisCOLK—lContinued] 

IV. 

The  clamour  of  cannon  dies  down,  the  furnace-mouth  of 

the  battle  is  silent. 
The  midwinter  sun  dips  and  descends,  the  earth  takes  on 

afresh  its  bright  colours. 
But  he  whom  we  mocked  and  obeyed  not,  he  whom  we 

scorned  and  mistrusted, 
He  has  descended,  like  a  god,  to  his  rest. 

Over  the  uproar  of  cities. 

Over  the  million  intricate  threads  of  life  wavering  and 
crossing, 

In  the  midst  of  problems  we  know  not,  tangling,  per- 
plexing, ensnaring. 

Rises  one  white  tomb  alone. 

Beam  over  it,  stars. 

Wrap  it  'round,  stripes — stripes  red  for  the  pain  that  he 

bore  for  you — 
Enfold    it    forever,    O    flag,    rent,    soiled,    but    repaired 

through  your  anguish ; 
Long  as  you  keep  him  there  safe,  the  nations  shall  bow 

to  your  law. 

Strew  over  him  flowers: 

Blue  forget-me-nots  from  the  North,  and  the  bright  pink 

arbutus 
Prom  the  East,  and  from  the  West  rich  orange  blossom. 
But  from  the  heart  of  the  land  take  the  passion  flower ; 
[270] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN—  [  Continued] 

Rayed,  violet,  dim, 

With  the  nails  that  pierced,  the  cross  that  he  bore  and 
the  circlet. 

And  beside  it  there  lay  also  one  lonely  snow-white  mag- 
nolia. 

Bitter  for  remembrance  of  the  healing  which  has  passed. 

John  Gould  Fletcher 


[271] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  WALKS  AT  MIDNIGHT 

IT  is  portentious,  and  a  thing  of  state 
That  here  at  midnight,  in  our  little  town 
A  mourning  figure  walks,  and  will  not  rest, 
Near  the  old  court-house  pacing  up  and  down, 

Or,  by  his  homestead,  or  in  shadowed  yards 
He  lingers  where  his  children  used  to  play. 
Or  through  the  market,  on  the  well-worn  stones 
He  stalks  until  the  dawn-stars  burn  away. 

A  bronzed,  lank  man!     His  suit  of  ancient  black, 
A  famous  high  top  hat  and  a  plain  worn  shawl 
Make  him  the  quaint  great  figure  that  men  love, 
The  prairie-lawyer,  master  of  us  all. 

He  cannot  sleep  upon  his  hillside  now. 
He  is  among  us — as  in  times  before! 
And  we  who  toss  and  lie  awake  for  long 
Breathe  deep,  and  start,  to  see  him  pass  the  door. 

His  head  is  bowed.    He  thinks  on  men  and  kings. 
Yea,  when  the  sick  world  cries,  how  can  he  sleep? 
Too  many  peasants  fight,  they  know  not  why; 
Too  many  homesteads  in  black  terror  weep. 
[272] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN  WALKS  AT  MIDNIGHT— [Contimied] 

The  sins  of  all  the  war-lords  burn  his  heart. 
He  sees  the  dreadnaughts  scouring  every  main. 
He  carries  on  his  shawl-wrapped  shoulders  now 
The  bitterness,  the  folly  and  the  pain. 

He  cannot  rest  until  a  spirit-dawn 
Shall  come; — the  shining  hope  of  Europe  free: 
The  league  of  sober  folk,  the  Workers'  Earth, 
Bringing  long  peace  to  Cornland,  Alp  and  Sea. 

It  breaks  his  heart  that  kings  must  murder  still, 
That  all  his  hours  of  travail  here  for  men 
Seem  yet  in  vain.    And  who  will  bring  white  peace 
That  he  may  sleep  upon  his  hill  again? 

IflCHOLAS  VaCHEL  LiNDSAT 


[273] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


HE  LEADS  US  STILL 

DARE  we  despair ?    Through  all  the  nights  and  days 
Of  lagging  war  he  kept  his  courage  true. 
Shall  doubt  befog  our  eyes?     A  darker  haze 

But  proved  the  faith  of  him  who  ever  knew 
That  right  must  conquer.     May  we  cherish  hate 

!For  our  poor  gi-iefs,  when  never  word  nor  deed 
Of  rancour,  malice,  spite  of  low  or  great, 

In  his  large  soul  one  poison-drop  could  breed? 

He  leads  us  still !     O'er  chasms  yet  unspanned 
Our  pathway  lies;  the  work  is  but  begun; 

But  we  shall  do  our  part  and  leave  our  land 
The  mightier  for  noble  battles  won. 

Here  truth  must  triumph,  honour  must  prevail: 

The  nation  Lincoln  died  for  cannot  fail ! 

Arthue  Guiteeman 


[274] 


X.     LINCOLN'S  CENTENARY  AND  OTHER 
BIRTHDAYS 


"Hail,  Lincoln,  to  thy  spirit,  upon  this  day, 
Which  saw  thy  birth,  and  saw  hi  thee  a  child 
Bom  for  a  mission  beautiful." 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN:  AN  ODE 

LET  silence  sink  upon  the  hills  and  vales! 
Over  the  towns  where  smoke  and  clangour  tell 
Their  glad  and  sorrowfully  noble  tales 

Of    women    bent    with    care,    of    men    who    labour 
well, 
Let  silence  sink  and  peace  and  rest  from  toil, 

Oh,  vast  machines,  be  still !     Oh,  hurrying  men, 
Eddying  like  chaff  upon  the  frothy  moil 

Of  seething  waters,  rest!     In  tower  and  den, 
High  in  the  heavens,  deep  in  the  cavernous  ground. 
There  where  men's  hearts  like  pulsing  engines  bound, 
Let  silence  lull  with  loving  hands  the  sound. 


Silence — ah,  through  the  silence,  clear  and  strong. 
Surging  like  wind-driven  breakers,  sweeps  a  song! 

Out  of  the  North,  loud  from  storm-beaten  strings, 
Out  of  the  East,  with  strife-born  ardour  loud. 
Out  of  the  West,  youthful  and  glad  and  proud, 

The  cry  of  honour,  honour,  honour!  rings. 
And  clear  with  trembling  mouth. 
Sipping  in  dreams  the  bitter  cup,  the  South 

Magnanimous  unfeigned  tribute  brings. 

[277] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN":  AN  OBE— [Continued] 

Oh,  prosperous  millions,  hush  your  grateful  cries ! 
The  sanctity  of  things  not  of  this  earth 
Broods  on  this  place — 
Wide  things  and  essences  that  have  their  birth 
In  the  unwalled,  unmeasured  homes  of  space; 
Spirits  of  men  that  went  and  left  no  trace, 
Only  their  labour  to  attest  their  worth 
In  the  world's  tear-dim,  unforgetting  eyes: 
Spirits  of  heroes !     Hark ! 
Through  the  shadow-mists,  the  dark. 
Hear  the  tramp,  tramp,  tramp  of  marchers,  living, 
who  were  cold  and  stark ! 
Hear  the  bugle,  hear  the  fife! 

How  they  scorn  the  grave! 
Oh,  on  earth  is  love  and  life 

For  the  noble,  for  the  brave. 
And  it's  tread,  tread,  tread! 
From  the  camp-fires  of  the  dead, 
Oh,  they're  marching,  they  are  marching  with  their 
Captain  at  their  head! 
Greet  them  who  have  gone  before ! 
Spread  with  rose  and  bay  the  floor — 
They  have  come,  oh,  they  have  come,  back  once  more  I 

Give  for  the  soldier  the  cheer, 
.   For  the  messmate  the  welcoming  call, 
But  for  him,  the  noblest  of  all, 
Silence  and  reverence  here. 
[278] 


Copyright  by  Underwood  if  Underwood 
"Lincoln's  thoit.iit" 

head  of  abraham  linfoi.x  in  plaster  by  george  grey  barnard 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN:  AN  ODE— [Continued] 

Oh,  patient  eyes,  oh,  bleeding,  mangled  heart! 
Oh,  hero,  whose  wide  soul,  defying  chains, 
Swept  at  each  army's  head, 
Swept  to  the  charge  and  bled. 
Gathering  in  one  too  sorrow-laden  heart 
All  woes,  all  pains: 

The  anguish  of  the  trusted  hope  that  wanes, 
The  soldier's  wound,  the  lonely  mourner's  smart. 
He  knew  the  noisy  horror  of  the  fight. 
From  dawn  to  dusk  and  through  the  hideous  night 
He  heard  the  hiss  of  bullets,  the  shrill  scream 

Of  the  wide-arching  shell. 
Scattering  at  Gettysburg  or  by  Potomac's  stream, 
Like  summer  showers,  the  pattering  rain  of  death; 
With  every  breath 

He  tasted  battle,  and  in  every  dream. 

Trailing  like  mists  from  gaping  walls  of  hell, 
He  heard  the  thud  of  heroes  as  they  fell. 
Oh,  man  of  many  sorrows,  'twas  your  blood 

That  flowed  at  Chickamauga,  at  Bull  Eun, 
Vicksburg,  Antietam  and  the  gory  wood 
And  Wilderness  of  ravenous  Deaths  that  stood 
Round  Richmond  like  a  ghostly  garrison: 
Your  blood  for  those  who  won, 

For  those  who  lost,  your  tears! 
For  you  the  strife,  the  fears, 
For  us  the  sun! 

[279] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN:  AN  ODE— [Contimtcd] 

For  you  tlie  lashing  winds  and  the  beating  rain  in  your 

eyes, 
For  us  the   ascending   stars   and   the  wido,   unbounded 

skies. 


Oh,  man  of  storms !     Patient  and  kingly  soul ! 

Oh,  wise  physician  of  a  wasted  land ! 

A  nation  felt  upon  its  heart  your  hand, 
And  lo,  your  hand  hath  made  the  shattered  whole. 
With  iron  clasp  your  hand  hath  held  the  wheel 
Of  the  lurching  ship,  on  tempest  waves,  no  keel 

Hath  ever  sailed. 

A   grim    smile    held    your    lips    while    strong   men 
quailed. 

You  strove  alone  with  chaos  and  prevailed; 
You  felt  the  grinding  shock  and  did  not  reel. 
And,  ah,  your  hand  that  cut  the  battle's  path 
Wide  with  the  devastating  plague  of  wrath. 

Your  bleeding  hand,  gentle  with  pity  yet, 

Did  not  forget 
To  bless,  to  succour,  and  to  heal. 


Great  brother  to  the  lofty  and  the  low, 

Our  tears,  our  tears  give  tribute!     A  dark  throng, 

With  fetters  of  hereditary  wrong 
Chained,  serf-like,  in  the  choking  dust  of  wo, 

[280] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN:  AN  OBE— [Continued] 

Lifts  up  its  arms  to  you,  lifts  up  its  cries ! 
Oh,  you,  who  knew  all  anguish,  in  whose  eyes, 

Pity,  with  tear-stained  face, 
Kept  her  long  vigil  o'er  the  severed  lands 

For  friend  and  foe,  for  race  and  race; 
You,  to  whom  all  were  brothers,  by  the  strands 

Of  spirit,  of  divinity, 

Bound  not  to  colour,  church,  or  sod, 
Only  to  man,  only  to  God; 
You,  to  whom  all  beneath  the  sun 

Moved  to  one  hope,  one  destiny — 

Lover  of  liberty,  oh,  make  us  free! 
Lover  of  union,  Master,  make  us  one! 


Master  of  men  and  of  your  own  great  heart, 

We  stand  to  reverence,  we  cannot  praise. 

About  our  upward-straining  orbs,  the  haze 
Of  earthly  things,  the  strife,  the  mart. 

Rises  and  dims  the  far-flung  gaze. 

We  cannot  praise! 
We  are  too  much  of  earth,  our  teeming  minds. 
Made  master  of  the  beaten  seas  and  of  the  conquered 
winds, 

Master  of  mists  and  the  subservient  air, 
Too  sure,  too  earthly  wise, 
Have  mocked  the  soul  within  that  asks  a  nobler  prize, 

And  hushed  her  prayer. 

[281] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN:  AN  ODE— [Continued] 

We  know  the  earth,  we  know  the  starry  skies, 
And  many  gods  and  stange  philosophies; 

But  you,  because  you  opened  like  a  gate 
Your  soul  to  God,  and  knew  not  pride  nor  hate. 
Only  the  Voice  of  voices  whispering  low — 
You,  oh  my  Master,  you  we  cannot  know. 

Oh,  splendid  crystal,  in  whose  depths  the  light 

Of  God  refracted  healed  the  hearts  of  men. 
Teach  us  your  power! 
For  all  your  labour  is  a  withered  flower 

Thirsting  for  sunbeams  in  a  murky  den. 
Unless  a  voice  shatters  as  once  the  night, 

Crying,  Emancipation !   yet  again. 
For  we  are  slaves  to  petty,  temporal  things. 

Whipped  with  the  cords  of  prejudice,  and  bound 
Each  to  his  race,  his  creeds,  his  kings, 

Each  to  his  plot  of  sterile  ground, 

His  narrow-margined  daily  round. 
Man  is  at  war  with  man  and  race  with  race. 
We  gaze  into  the  brother's  face 

And  never  see  the  crouching,  hungry  pain. 

Only  the  clanking  of  the  slavish  chain 
We  hear,  that  holds  us  to  our  place. 

Oh,  to  be  free,  oh,  to  be  one ! 

Shoulder  to  shoulder  to  strive  and  to  dare! 

What  matter  the  race  if  the  labour  be  done, 

What  matter  the  colour  if  God  be  there? 

[282] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN:  AN  ODE— [Continued] 

Forward  together,  onward  to  the  goal! 
Oh,  mighty  Chief,  who  in  your  own  great  soul, 
Hung  with  the  fetters  of  a  lowly  birth, 
The  kinship  of  the  visionless,  the  obstinate  touch  of 
earth, 
Broke  from  the  tethering  slavery,  and  stood 
Unbound,    translucent,   glorious   before    God ! — 
Be  with  us.  Master!     These  unseeing  eyes 
Waken  to  light,  our  erring,  groping  hands 
Unfetter  for  a  world's  great  needs! 
Till,    like    Creation's   dawning,   golden  through   the 
lands 
Leaping,  and  up  th'  unlit,  unconquered  skies 

Surging  with  myriad  steeds, 
There  shall  arise 
Out  of  the  maze  of  clashing  destinies, 

Out  of  the  servitude  of  race  and  blood, 
One  flag,  one  law,  one  hope,  one  brotherhood. 

Hermann  Hagedokn 


[283] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

1809—1909 

"The  mystic  chords  of  memory,  stretching  from 
every  battlefield  and  patriot  grave  to  every  living  heart 
and  hearth-stone  all  over  this  broad  land,  ivill  yet  swell 
the  chorus  of  the  Union  when  again  touched,  as  surely 
they  will  be,  by  the  better  angels  of  our  nature." 

NO  trumpet  blared  the  word  that  he  was  born, 
l^or  lightning  flashed  its  symbols  on  the  day; 
And  only  Poverty  and  Fate  pressed  on 
To  serve  as  handmaids  where  he  lowly  lay. 


No  royal  trappings  fell  to  his  rude  part — 
A  simple  hut  and  labour  were  its  goal; 
But  Fate,  stern-eyed,  had  held  him  to  her  heart, 
And  left  a  greatness  on  his  rugged  soul. 


And  up  from  earth  and  toil  he  slowly  won — 
Pressed  by  a  bitterness  he  proudly  spurned — 
Till  by  grim  courage,  born  from  sun  to  sun, 
He  turned  defeat  as  victory  is  turned. 
[28-i] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN— [Continued] 

Sired  deep  in  destiny,  he  backward  threw 

The  old  heredities  that  men  have  known; 

And  round  his  gaunt  and  homely  form  he  drew 

The  fierce  white  light  that  greatness  makes  its  own. 

Sad-eyed  and  wan,  yet  strong  to  do  the  right — 
To  clear  the  truth,  as  God  gave  him  to  see — 
He  held  a  raging  country  by  his  might, 
Before  the  iron  hour  of  destiny. 

!Nor  flame  nor  sword  nor  silver  tongues  availed 
To  turn  his  passion  from  its  steady  flow; 
The  compact  of  the  Fathers  had  not  failed — 
He  would  not  let  an  angered  people  go! 

He  stood  in  calm  while  shaking  chaos  swept 
The  Union — North  and  South,  in  seething  flood ; 
And  on  his  knees  the  griefs  of  both  he  wept — 
But  kept  unbroke  the  compact  sealed  in  blood. 

He  saw  the  sullen  smoke  of  battle  lift, 
That  closed  the  carnage  of  the  war  of  wars ; 
And  on  the  height,  hailed  through  the  azure  rift 
The  flag  whose  folds  have  never  dipped  its  stars. 

But  amnesty  was  in  the  conquering  hand, 
That  yearned  across  the  silent  cannon's  mouth; — 
When,  with  the  knell  that  startled  all  the  land. 
There  died  the  last  hope  of  the  bleeding  South! 

[285] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAIM  LINCOLN— [Continued] 

With  gentle  tread  time  wears  upon  the  past; 
The  field  of  blood  is  dried,  the  waste  is  tilled, 
And  by  the  light  of  peace  around  them  east, 
Men  read  the  earnest  prophecy,  fulfilled. 

There  is  no  wo  in  this  broad  land  to-day, 
Held  in  the  bonds  of  faith,  forever  one; 
The  golden  glow  of  progress  leads  the  way, 
Where  once  the  gTins  of  wrath  so  darkly  shone. 

Here  rest  their  arms,  while  deathless  glory  tells 
The  watch  of  time  for  all  the  true  and  brave — 
And  here  the  grandeur  of  a  Nation  dwells — 
The  Union,  that  a  Lincoln  died  to  save! 

Virginia  Frazer  Botle 

The  above  tribute  from  ]\Irs.  Boyle,  written  at  the  invitation  of 
the  Philadelphia  Brigade  Association,  and  read  by  her  at  their  cen- 
tennial celebration,  Feb.  12,  1909,  tvas  born  of  a  life-long  feeling  of 
gratitude  to  President  Lincoln.  When  the  author's  father,  an  officer 
of  the  Confederate  army,  was  ill  in  the  military  prison  at  Johnson's 
Island,  and  through  some  mysterious  channels,  perhaps  Masonic, 
her  mother  heard  that  he  was  dying  of  pneumonia  and  starvation 
at  a  time  when  all  Confederate  visitors  were  forbidden  the  Island, 
she  made  the  trip  to  Washington  alone,  and  returned  with  a  permit 
to  see  her  husband,  written  by  President  Lincoln  on  his  visiting 
card.  Armed  with  this  highest  authority  she  was  able  to  pass  the 
officials  and  save  her  husband's  life  by  providing  proper  food  and 
care. 


[286] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  BIRTHDAY 

Fehruanj  12,  1809 

AS  back  we  look  across  the  ages 
A  few  great  figTires  meet  the  eye — 
Kings,  prophets,  warriors,  poets,  sages — 

Whose  names  and  deeds  will  never  die. 

The  rest  are  all  forgotten,  perished, 

Like  trees  in  trackless  forests  vast. 

But  those  whose  memory  men  have  cherished 
Seem  living  still  and  have  ny  past. 

!N'ot  always  of  high  race  or  royal 

These  messengers  of  God  to  men, 

But  lowly-born,  true-hearted,  loyal. 

They  wielded  sword  or  brush  or  pen. 

Such  was  our  Lincoln,  who  forever 
Is  hailed  as  Freer  of  the  Slave, 

Whose  lofty  purpose  and  endeavour 

Kew  hope  to  hopeless  bondmen  gave. 

Gaunt,  hewed  as  if  from  rugged  boulders, 
He  bore  a  world  of  care  and  wo, 

Which  creased  his  brow  and  bent  his  shoulders, 
And  as  a  martyr  laid  him  low. 

[287] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  BmTUDAY— [Continued] 

And  so  we  tell  our  sons  his  story, 
We  celebrate  his  humble  birth, 

And  crown  his  deeds  with  all  the  glory 
That  men  can  offer  on  this  earth. 

Hail,  Lincoln !    As  the  swift  years  lengthen 
Still  more  majestic  grows  thy  fame; 

The  ties  that  bind  us  to  thee  strengthen; 
Starlike-immortal  shines  thy  name. 

Nathan  Haskell  Dole 


[288] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  HUNDREDTH  BIRTHDAY 
February  12,  1909 

WE  name  a  day  and  thus  commemorate 
The  hero  of  our  nation's  bitter  strife; 
The  martyr  who  for  freedom  gave  his  life. 
We  feel  the  day  made  holy  by  his  fate. 


The  wheels  of  time  then  turn  their  ceaseless  round, 

And  slowly  wear  our  memory  away: 

The  holy  day  becomes  a  holiday; 

Its  motive  changes  with  its  change  of  sound. 


Let  not  our  purpose  thus  be  set  aside: 
An  hour,  'twixt  work  and  pleasure,  let  us  pause, 
And  consecrate  ourselves  to  serve  the  cause 
For  which  our  hero  strove,  our  martyr  died. 


He  lived  to  reunite  our  severed  land; 
To  liberate  a  million  slaves  he  died, 
And  that  the  great  experiment  be  tried 
Where  each  one  ruled,  in  ruling  has  a  hand. 

[289] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  HUNDREDTH  BmTHDAY— [Continued] 

What  tho'  the  pessimists,  amid  their  fears, 
The  great  experiment  to  failure  doom. 
Let  us  recall  his  trust  in  time  of  gloom. 
And  steadfast  persevere  a  thousand  years. 

Tho'  sure  that  victories  will  yet  be  won, 
Like  those  our  fathers  gained  laboriously, 
'Tis  not  for  us  to  boast  vaingloriously 
As  if  our  battles  were  already  done. 

Our  elders  might  have  sung  with  better  grace 
The  verse  that  vaunts  us  ever  free  and  brave, 
Had  not  our  land  so  long  oppressed  the  slave. 
Stolen  from  over  sea,  to  our  disgrace. 

Yet  in  our  pride,  how  little  right  have  we 
To  blame  our  elders  for  an  ancient  wrong 
That  gave  the  weak  in  bondage  to  the  strong. 
Are  we  ourselves  so  wholly  brave  and  free? 

Yes,  with  primeval  courage,  brave  and  strong, 
When  banded  'gainst  a  foe;  yes,  free  from  kings- 
But  not  so  brave  and  free  in  smaller  things 
That  we  should  celebrate  ourselves  in  song. 

iNot  that  it  counts  for  naught  that  we  have  grown 
To  be  the  leaders  of  a  continent, 
And  not  that  we  could  be  for  long  content 
'Mid  any  other  folk  except  our  own. 
[290] 


Interior  of  the  Hodgensville  Lincoln  Memorial  Building  sheltering  the  cabin 
in  which  Lincoln  was  born.  Both  were  accejited  for  the  nation  by  President 
Wilson  September  4,  191(). 


»f.,. 


THE   I.INCOI.X    IMESrORlAL      . 
BUII.DIXG,  ERECTED  ON 
THE   LINCOLN   FARM   AT 
HODGENSVILLE,    KENTLCKY 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  HUNDREDTH  BmTRB AY— [Continued] 

■     But  that  we  must  not  lightly  over-rate 
Our  qualities:  if  on  our  faults  I  lay 
A  certain  emphasis,  'tis  not  to-day 
Ourselves,  but  Lincoln  whom  we  celebrate. 

For  he  was  brave,  a  true  American — 
Unselfish,  kindly,  patient,  firm,  discerning. 
His  honest,  homely  wisdom  outweighed  learning; 
He  stood  for  service  to  his  fellow  man. 

How  think  of  him  and  not  condemn  the  use 
Of  public  office  serving  private  ends. 
Of  petty  fraud,  for  which  each  one  pretends 
To  find  in  others'  frauds  his  own  excuse? 

How  can  we  think  of  him  and  not  repent 
The  shaded  line  we  draw  'twixt  wrong  and  right ; 
Of  him,  and  not  resolve  with  all  our  might 
To  carry  on  the  great  experiment? 

If  most  of  us  have  no  great  tasks  to  do, 
Let  us,  like  him,  be  faithful  in  things  small. 
Our  nation's  drama  makes  us  actors  all; 
If  only  splitting  rails,  we'll  split  them  true. 

If  troubles  thicken,  let  us  still  deserve 
To  solve  them  all  as  Lincoln  would  to-day; 
If  dangers  threaten,  let  us  not  betray 
The  cause  that  Lincoln,  living  yet,  would  serve. 

[291] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  HUNDREDTH  BmTRDAY— [Continued] 

Here  in  a  distant  foreign  land  we  pause, 
'Twixt  work  and  pleasure,  to  commemorate 
His  noble  life.     So  let  us  consecrate 
Ourselves  to  play  our  part  in  Lincoln's  cause. 

William  Moeeis  Davis 

This  poem  was  read  by  its  author  (then  Harvard  Exchange-Pro- 
fessor at  the  University  of  Berlin)  at  the  celebration  of  the  Lincoln 
Centenary  held  at  the  home  of  the  American  Ambassador  and  Mrs. 
Hill,  in  Berlin,  on  the  afternoon  of  Feb.  12,  1909. 


[292] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  BIRTHDAY 

ASACEED  day  is  this— 
day  to  bless; 
A  day  that  leads  to  bliss 

Through  bitterness. 
For  on  this  day  of  days, 
One  wondrous  morn, 
In  far  off  forest  ways 
Was  Lincoln  born! 

Who  supped  the  cup  of  tears, 

Who  ate  the  bread 
Of  sorrow  and  of  fears, 

Of  war  and  dread; 
Yet  from  this  feast  of  woes, 

His  people's  pride, 
A  loved  immortal  rose 

All  glorified ! 


John  Kendkick  Bangs 


[293] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BANNER  MEMORIES 

A  Poem  for  Abraliam  Lincoln's  Birthday 

THE  lone  ship  plunges  on  her  trackless  way, 
Her  guide  and  faithful  needle  pointing  North. 

The  sleepless  watchman,  silent,  gazes  forth 
To  sight  the  changes  of  the  night  and  day. 
The  immeasurable  waste  of  blue  or  grey. 

Its  fluent  hills  and  hollows  splashed  with  foam, 
With  rainbow-tinted  flowers  of  flashing  spray. 

Lies  cold  and  solemn  'neath  heaven's  circling  dome. 
For  hour  on  hour  no  bird's  wing  flecks  the  sky; 

The  same  monotonous  sweep  of  barren  brine 
Wearies  the  homesick  voyager's  mournful  eye 

Which  yearns  to  catch  some  heart-consoling  sign. 


"A  sail !  a  sail !"  rings  out  the  thrilling  cry. 

Sudden  athwart  the  keen  horizon-line 
Struggles  a  dim,  indefinite  cloud  to  view. 
Half-blending,  half-contrasting,  with  the  blue, 
But  momently  enlarging,  till,  at  last, 
.Full-rigged  with  canvas  straining  at  each  mast — 

A  vision  of  beauty  in  wind-cleansed  dazzling  white 

A  deep-hulled  ship  dawns  full  in  sight, 

[294] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BANNER  MEllOmES— [Continued] 

Rising  and  dipping  on  those  mountainous  seas. 

Then,  if  perchance  that  ship  bears  at  the  height 
Of  swaying  mast-top,  wide-spread  on  the  breeze, 

The  traveller's  home  flag,  faded  though  it  fly, 
He  feels  that  he  must  fall  upon  his  knees 

In  adoration  of  its  majesty. 
It  stirs  his  pulses,  fills  his  eyes  with  tears, 

Makes  him  forget  his  grief  and  loneliness; 
It  wakes  the  sailors'  voices  into  cheers — 

Has  magic  power  to  kindle  and  to  bless! 


What  is  the  magic  of  the  flag?' 

What  influence  holds 

Within  its  graceful  folds, 
That,  though  it  be  a  smoke-grimed  rag, 

Faded  and  frayed  and  tattered, 
Strife-eager  men  will  die 

To  hold  it  high 
Before  the  cannon  belching  shotted  firej 

And,  if  it  drop 
From  out  the  colour-sergeant's  hands. 

The  hero  marching  next  will  stop 
Only  to  seize  with  death  desire 

Its  blood-stained  staff  all  shattered, 
And  lift  it  onward  for  the  following  bands 

To  get  fresh  courage  by? 

[295] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BANNEE  MEMORIES— [C'on(mue<Z] 

How  can  its  alternating  stripes 

Of  white  and  red, 
Its  star-sown  field  of  azure, 
Unite  in  one  enthusiasm  none  may  measure 
A  hundred  varying  human  types — 

Those  who  have  fled 
From  Persecution's  cruel  trial, 

Or  who  in  Freedom's  cause  their  blood  have  shed- 
Russian  and  Hebrew,  Finn  and  Persian; 

And  those  who  save,  by  rigid  self-denial, 
The  meagre  sum  to  justify  desertion 
0f  Fatherland's  intolerance  unpaternal ; 

And  those  who  have  escaped  Conscription's  curse, 
Or,  what  is  worse. 

Some  bitter  internecine  War's 
Wild  aftermath  infernal ; 

And  those  whose  ancestors 
Came  hither  for  Religion's  sake 

With  lofty  zeal  to  make 

A  Paradise  of  God 
Within  a  primitive  wilderness  untrod? 

What  is  the  magic  power 
Which  makes  its  beauty  lovelier  than  a  flower? 

It  is  the  symbol  of  a  majesty, 
A  vast  idea,  a  concept  that  appeals 

To  ignorant  and  to  learned  equally. 
To  every  heart  that  feels. 

[296] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BANNER  MEMO'RlEfS— [Continued] 

It  is  the  gonfalon  of  Liberty; 
Its  bright  escutcheon  stands 
To  differentiate  from  other  lands 
Our  home-land — land  where  we  were  born, 

Or  new-born,  into  Freedom's  light. 
Its  mission  is  to  welcome  or  to  warn — 
To  stream  across  the  sky, 
Portentous  as  a  comet, 
That  fierce  aggression's  might 
May  read  the  threat  of  vengeance  from  it; 
Or,  softly  beaming  with  effulgence  bright, 
To  feed  the  imagination  of  the  young 

With  hope  and  fervour  for  the  Right 
And  love  for  every  nation,  every  tongTie. 
Its  thirteen  alternating  bars 

Rehearse  the  legend  of  a  N'ation's  birth: 
The  glorious  Red 

Is  symbol  of  the  patriotic  life-blood  shed. 
Whose  flower  of  fame  we  have  inherited; 
The  White  is  Peace,  Good-will  to  Earth; 
The  growing  constellation 
Of  dominating  Stars 

Is  hieroglyphic 
And  typifies  the  increase  of  the  N^ation 

From  Lakes  to  Gulf,  Atlantic  to  Pacific. 

I  stood  within  the  marble-vaulted  hall, 

Where,  in  tricoloured  groups  assembled, 

[297] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BANNER  MEMORIES— [Conim«ccZ] 

The  battle  banners,  bullet-torn, 

With  years  of  service  worn, 
Mantled  with  never-dying  glory, 
Depicted  national  history  on  the  wall. 

Those  silent  testimonials  breathed  the  story 
Of  bloody  conflict,  while  the  Country  trembled. 

The  memorable  names  were  scrolled 

Upon  each  drooping  fold — 
Antietam,  Chickamauga,  Gettysburg — 
Duels  by  sea  and  on  the  streams 

Whose  waters  into  blood  were  turned. 
Battles  above  the  clouds,  where  the  SimurgK 

Of  Oriental  dreams 
Spread  out  his  threescore  wings. 

And,  in  deep  mourning,  yearned 
Above   the  elemental   strife 
Whose  gage  was  a  vast  Nation's  life! 


Methought  I  was  a  boy  again, 

And,  standing  by  the  old  brick  homestead's  gate, 
Watched,  filing  by,  the  troops  of  friendly  men 

That  left  the  tree-embowered  village. 
The  calni  and  peaceful  rustic  life, 

The  evening's  dewy  stillness 

And  the  sweet  fields  of  homely  tillage. 
To  march  away  and  meet  their  waiting  Fate 

Of  death  and  ghastly  wounds  and  life-long  illness 

[298] 


THE    LINCOLN    HOME    AT  SPRINGFIELD, 

From  a  war-time  photograph 


ILLINOIS 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BANNEK  MEMOmES— [Continued] 

I  heard  the  drum-tap  and  the  shrilling  fife 

And  the  gaunt  captain's  stern  commands 

Resounding  quick  and  loud. 
I  saw  the  new  flag,  sewed  by  women's  hands, 

Waving,    as    yet    unsmoke-stained,    bright    and 
proud ! 
Oh!  how  I  mourned  because  I  was  a  boy 
And  could  not  share  that  patriotic  joy 
Of  marching  Southward  with  those  death-devoted  bands! 


Such  was  the  scene  in  every  town  and  city 
Throughout  the  universal  North: 

Husbands  and  fathers,  lovers,  sons  and  brothers, 
With  fond  devotion  hastening  forth, 
While  in  the  desolate  homes  despairing  mothers 
Stripped  lint,  made  bandages  with  holy  pity 

Alike  for  wounded  friend  and  brave,  misguided  foe, 
And  wept  at  each  report  of  War's  wide-wasting  wo! 

For  this,  as  well  as  our  far-spread  dominion, 

The  glorious  flag  is  symbol  as  it  floats 
Above  each  school  house,  like  the  pinion 

Of  some  great  watchful  bird 
Whose  sweet  mellifluous  notes 

Within  the  patriotic  heart  are  heard. 
To-day,  thank  God!  that  radiant  flag  again — 

By  N'orth  and  South  united 

With  faith  and  lealty  voluutary-j)lighted 

[299] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BANNER  UEMOmES— [Continued] 

Throughout  our  marvellously  dowered  domain — 

Is  like  a  precious  jewel  treasured 

With  love  and  gratitude  unmeasured, 
By  countless  millions  of  free,  happy  men! 

Millions  have  died  to  shield  it  and  would  die! 

Our  martyr  Lincoln's  blood  was  shed 
Upon  the  altar  that  it  still  might  fly 
ITnmutilated  in  our  Freedom-breathing  sky. 
He  was  the  colour-bearer  for  the  dead 

That  marched  in  concentrating  columns  into  fame, 

The  heroic  souls  that  kept  the  sacred  flame 
Of  heaven-descended  Liberty 

With  Patriotism's  chrismal  oil  bright-fed! 

Fling  forth  the  banner,  then, 
On  Lincoln's  natal  day! 

Recall  this  simple-hearted  Prince  of  men: 
Tall,  gaunt,  ungainly. 
Who  spoke  the  frontier  speech  so  eloquently,  plainly, 

Whose  sane  wit  kept  the  balance  true 

'Twixt  rainbow-hued  fallacious  hope 

And  dark  unreasoning  despair ; 
Whose  vivid  intuition  knew 
The  upward-leading,  goal-assuring  clue 
Through  darkness  where  more  learned  statesmen  grope 
And  fall  because  they  have  no  faith  to  do  and  dare ! 
[300] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BANNER  MEMORIES— [Continued] 

He  was  the  God-coiimiissloiiecl  leader  sent 

To  guide  his  people  through  the  Wilderness. 
When  in  the  seeming  fatal  ambush  pent, 

His  courage  bade  him,  victory-haloed,  onward  press. 
His  heart  was  firm,  his  arms  were  stayed; 
Discouragement  in  vain  assailed; 
Defeat  still  left  him  undismayed; 

And  thus  the  long  hard  passage  to  the  Promised  Land, 
In  spite  of  cruel  and  malicious  prophecies 
And  traitors'  evil  offices. 

Was  made  as  his  great  heart  and  mind  had  planned. 


Yet,  like  the  earlier  Moses,  he  was  not  allowed, 
With  those  he  rescued  from  the  foe,  to  stand 
(With  swift  temptation  to  be  proud) 

Upon  the  sacred  soil. 

His  was  the  burden  and  the  toil; 

And  when  the  grapes  of  Eschol  purple-clustering. 
The  smiling  pastures  of  the  violet  hills, 

The  fertile  plains,  the  shade-dispersing  trees, 
The  cooling  waters  of  the  sweet  fresh  rills, 

The  fragrance  of  the  blossom-sweeping  breeze. 

The  sleepy  murmur  of  the  honey-storing  bees, 
After  the  desert  sand-storms  blustering, 

Offered  their  riches  and  he  might  find  rest. 

The  assassin's  weapon  smote  his  friendly  breast! 

[301] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BANNER  MEU0B.1ES— [Continued] 

Fling  forth  the  banner,  then — 

The  star-emblazoned  field  of  blue, 

The  waving  stripes  which  once  Columbia  threw 
Over  the  tear-drenched  death  pyre  of  her  martyred  Citizen. 
Fling  forth  the  banner  trimmed  with  laurel  and  with  rue ! 
O,  let  the  clangorous  bell-tones  ring 
And  all  the  reverence  of  the  ^Nation  bring 
In  honour  of  the  man  more  royal  than  the  mightiest  king. 
O,  gi-eet  the  symbol  of  our  Mother-land, 

Columbia,  freedom-dowered, 

In  whose  great  heart  the  antique  virtues  all  have  flow- 
ered, 
So  opulent,  so  generous,  so  gTand. 

Nathan  Haskell  Dole 


[302] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ON  LINCOLN'S  BIRTHDAY 

A  DAY  of  joy,  a  holiday! 
A  day  in  festal  colours  drest 
To  honour  one  who  knew  not  play, 
N^or  ever  tasted  rest! 

O  Man  of  Sorrows  and  of  Tears, 

Would  we  might  bring  to  you 
Back  through  the  pathway  of  dead  years 

One  touch  of  comfort  true! 

Would  that  your  eyes  might  penetrate 

The  shadows  in  between, 
Through  all  the  clouds  of  war  and  hate 

And  mists  that  intervene. 

Into  the  hearts  of  all  the  throng 

Of  living  men,  to  find 
Yoiir  name  and  fame  the  first  among 

The  treasures  of  mankind! 

John  Kendrick  Bangs 


[303] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN:  AN  FXEGY 

Dedicated  to  President  Woodrow  Wilson 

HAIL,  Lincoln,  to  thy  spirit,  upon  this  day, 
Which  saw  thy  birth,  and  saw  in  thee  a  child 
Born  for  a  mission  beautiful,  and  laid, 
Like  the  babe  Jesus,  wrapt  in  lowliness, 
Upon  the  threshold  of  a  shining  year ! 

Who  but  his  mother  round  that  little  head 
Glimpsed  the  pale  dawn  of  glory  ?     Who  but  she 
Dreamed  of  a  wondrous  halo  which  he  wore 
And  trembling  bowed  and  worshipped  ?     Who  but  she 
Guessed  all  around  him  angels,  robed  with  awe. 
And  heard  a  whisper  of  seraphs?     Ah,  she  knew! 
Knew  as  a  mother  knows,  without  surprise, 
Her  son  was  bom  for  saving  of  the  sad! 
What  though  on  him  shone  no  discovering  star, 
Were  not  her  eyes,  her  mother-beaming  eyes, 
Yet  fairer  than  the  fairest  orb  in  heaven? 
What  though  to  him  no  pomp  of  pilgrim  kings, 
Adoring,  doffed  the  tribute  of  their  crowns. 
Was  not  her  homage  precious  as  their  gold  ? 
Thus  with  the  dying  swan's  wild  music,  thrilled 
With  love's  prophetic  rapture,  she  foresaw 
[304] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN":      AN  ELEGY— [Contitmed] 

Him  garmented  with  greatness,  saw  afar 
The  future  kneel  before  him.     Then  a  mist 
Blotted  the  sun  and  blight  fell  on  her  dream, 
And  she  stood  weeping  in  a  lonely  land. 

Bred  in  a  low  place,  lord  of  little  deeds. 

He  learned  to  rule  his  spirit,  and  he  grew 

Like  the  young  oak  with  yearning  for  the  sky. 

Yet  on  his  face  was  sadness,  as  if  grief 

Had  chilled  his  singing  childhood,  ah,  too  soon, 

Or  love  with  her  heart-summer  came  too  late ! 

So  with  the  world  he  wrestled  for  his  life 

And  laboured  long  in  silence,  his  gaunt  frame 

Knotted  with  secret  agonies;  and  so 

Struggled  through  darkness  upward  till  he  stood 

Rugged  and  resolute,  a  man  of  men! 

The  South  was  in  his  blood  and  kept  it  warm. 
And  on  his  soul  the  winds  of  all  the  iNorth 
Beat  like  a  storm  of  eagles  at  a  crag 
And  left  him  granite.     Then  to  his  chaste  heart 
The  virgin  West  sang  with  siren's  voice 
And  to  her  arms  allured  him,  and  he  gave 
His  deepest  love  and  all  his  loyal  strength. 
Thus  with  austere  devotion  he  foreswore 
Plenty  and  pleasure,  hewing  through  the  wilds 
Brightening  highways,  founding  the  young  state 
Upon  that  rock,  the  liberty  of  law. 

[305] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN:      AN  ELEGY— [Continued] 

He  was  a  man,  amid  tlie  tlii'ong  of  men — 
A  simple  man !     And  though  in  him  was  seen 
A  giant  wrestler,  strong  and  grapple-armed, 
Mighty  in  struggle,  dauntless,  one  that  loomed 
Invincible  in  battles  of  debate — 
Yet  all  who  knew  him  loved  him,  for  he  hid 
The  hero  with  a  smile,  and  seemed  instead 
Only  a  king  of  kindness,  showing  thus 
Unto  the  proud  the  majesty  of  man, 
How  more  than  king  to  be  a  common  man ! 
His  life  was  one  humility,  and  though 
The  heights  were  his,  he  lingered  in  the  vales, 
Yoked  to  a  lowly  sei*vice  many  years. 
Then  came  the  call,  the  loud,  fierce  upward  call, 
And  while  the  cloudy  battle  closed  around, 
While  Blue  and  Grey  commingled  in  a  mist 
Of  glory — then  from  his  dare-kindled  eyes 
The  eagle  stared,  unquailing,  and  his  look 
Like  the  resistless  lightning  flashed  and  flamed; 
Yea,  from  his  heart  as  from  a  scabbard  leaped 
The  hero  like  a  sword,  and  with  one  stroke 
Freed  the  last  slave,  and  all  the  sleeping  world 
Woke,  and  with  one  gi-eat  voice  of  wonder  cried, 
"This  is  a  Man!" 

He  knew  what  kindest  word 
Would  quicken  hope  and  hearten  the  faint  cause; 
Homespun  his  pai'ables  from  life's  rich  loom, 
[306] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN:      AN  ELEGY— [Continued] 

Were  logical  as  Nature,  and  lie  made 
His  gentle  wisdom  wiser  with  a  jest, 
While  humour  like  the  laughing  of  the  dawn 
Gleamed  through  the  cloud  that  troubled  his  far  eyes. 
Some  called  him  homely  who  forgot  to  shine, 
Who,  stooped  by  a  vast  burden,  yet  became 
Unto  the  homeless  heart   an  open  home. 
And  as  he  walked  through  dreary  human  ways 
The  sad,  the  poor,  the  lonely  and  the  lost 
Followed  his  form  with  long-pursuing  love. 
And  all  that  saw  him  marvelled,  for  they  felt 
That  some  dear  Christ  had  sweetened  all  the  air. 

Then  in  that  towering  moment  when  he  cried, 
''There  are  no  boundaries,"  and  as  he  bade 
Division  cease  and  battle  be  no  more, 
When  all  the  happy,  now  the  nation  saved, 
Bugled  of  triumph,  as  he  breathed  his  calm 
"Let  there  be  peace,"  and  peace  was  over  all — 
Even  then  he  fell  and  left  us  desolate! 

But  still  he  lives,  for  like  a  banner  of  gold 
His  conquering  name  goes  marching  on  to  God; 
WTio  though  he  set  in  darkness  rose  again, 
Yea,  like  the  rising  universal  sun 
Summed  in  one  flame  the  dark-divided  stars — 
So  on  this  day,  above  him,  where  he  sleeps, 
Over  his  grave,  united,  with  one  grief, 
Lo,  North  and  South  clasp  their  forgetting  hands! 

Leonaed  Charles  Van  NToppen 

[307] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

February  12,1917 

LET  memory  whiten  her  wall, 
The  wall  of  that  corridor  grand 
That  leads  to  her  innermost  hall 

Where  lives  The  Beloved  of  our  land. 


To-day  we  will  throw  back  the  bar, 
That  holds  him  so  safely  within, 

To  answer  a  call  from  afar — 

A  prayer  from  the  midst  of  the  din 


Where  rulers  of  men  have  gone  wild 
With  lust  for  more  temporal  power; 

Where  dead  in  the  trenches  are  piled, 

As  darker  the  fierce  war-clouds  lower; 


Where  homes  are  laid  waste  far  and  wide. 
And  mothers  and  daughters  outraged; 

Where  men  like  brute  devils  deride 
The  pitiful  pleas  of  the  aged. 
[308] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN— IContmued] 

From  there  comes  the  call  loud  and  clear; 

The  people's  deep  heart-rending  call — 
Great  Spirit  of  Lincoln  appear 

''With  charity,"  yes,  and  "for  all !" 

To  us  in  our  time  of  dire  need 

Thou  cam'st  our  redeemer  and  friend; 

We  kept  thee  because  of  our  greed 

When  all  we  were  asked  was — to  lend. 

Such  wisdom  and  justice  combined, 

Such  patience  and  tenderness  rare, 

The  people  are  groping  to  find — 

Just  groping  'twixt  hope  and  despair. 


A  continent  calls  thee,  as  one — 

The  door  of  our  greed  is  ajar — 

It  needs  thy  sweet  "malice  toward  none," 
Thy  Spirit  for  its  guiding  Star! 

They  shall  not  implore  us  in  vain — 

Our  impulse  to  give  has  not  died — 
God  speed  thee  o'er  ocean  and  plain. 

Great  Soul  of  America's  pride! 

E.  C.  Sewaed 


[309] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  BIRTHDAY,  19I8 

IT  was  ''fitting  and  proper,"  our  Lincoln  said, 
That  we  should  pause  and  remember  our  dead. 
Our  heroes  who  fought  and  struggled  and  bled 
At  Gettysburg. 

And  on  his  glad,  sad,  natal  day 
It  is  fitting  and  proper  that  we  should  stay, 
And  on  his  shrine  our  flowers  lay 
In  memory. 

©  Lincoln!  thine  anguish  and  toil  and  pain. 
The  bitter  cup  which  thou  didst  drain, 
Thy  travail  of  soul  shall  not  be  vain. 
Our  martyred  one. 

The  sons  of  the  men  who  fought  with  thee, 
And  sons  of  those  they  fought  thou'llst  see 
Fight  side  by  side,  and  the  goal  shall  be 
World  liberty. 

And  the  pilot  who  guides  our  ship  of  state 
On  no  uncharted  sea  need  wait; 
Thine  hand  on  his  is  adequate 
For  victory. 

Woodbury  Pulsifee 
[310] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  BIRTHDAY,  19I8 

WHEN  overburdened  with  its  care 
My  soul  seems  yielding  to  despair, 
I  think  of  him  to  whom  to-day 
All  men  a  golden  tribute  pay; 

Who  in  the  midst  of  trials  sore 
His  burden  uncomplaining  bore, 
And  out  of  bitterness  ran  on 
To  splendid  laurels  nobly  won; 

And  from  the  thought  of  him  I  too 
Gain  confidence  and  courage  true, 
And  faith  sublime  that  thro'  the  night 
Mine  eyes  will  find  their  way  to  light. 

John  Kendkick  Bangs 


[311] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  MAN  OF  PEACE 

WHAT  winter  holiday  is  this? 
In  Time's  great  calendar, 
Marked  with  the  rubric  of  the  saints, 

And  with  a  soldier's  star, 
Here  stands  the  name  of  one  who  lived 

To  serve  the  common  weal, 
With  humour  tender  as  a  prayer 
And  honour  firm  as  steel. 


No  hundred  hundred  years  can  dim 

The  radiance  of  his  mirth. 
That  set  unselfish  laughter  free 

From  all  the  sons  of  earth. 
Unswerved  through  stress  and  scant  success. 

Out  of  his  dreamful  youth 
He  kept  an  unperverted  faith 

In  the  almighty  truth. 


Born  in  the  fulness  of  the  days, 
Up  from  the  teeming  soil. 

By  the  world-mother  reared  and  schooled 
In  reverence  and  toil, 
[312] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  MAN  OF  TE ACE— [Continued] 

He  stands  the  test  of  all  life's  best 
Througli  play,  defeat,  or  strain; 

!Never  a  moment  was  he  found 
Unlovable  nor  vain. 

Fondly  we  set  apart  this  day, 

And  mark  this  plot  of  earth 
To  be  forever  hallowed  ground 

In  honour  of  his  birth. 
Where  men  may  come  as  to  a  shrine 

And  temple  of  the  good, 
To  be  made  sweet  and  strong  of  heart 

In  Lincoln's  brotherhood. 

Here  walked  God's  earth  in  modesty 

The  shadow  that  was  man, 
A  shade  of  the  divine  that  moved 

Through  His  mysterious  plan. 
So  must  we  fill  the  larger  mould 

Of  wisdom,  love,  and  power, 
Fearless,  compassionate,  contained. 

And  masters  of  the  hour. 

As  men  found  faithful  to  a  task 

Eternal,  pressing,  plain, 
Accounting  manhood  more  than  wealth, 

And  gladness  more  than  gain; 

[313] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  JNIAN  OF  PEACE— [Continued] 

Distilling  happiness  from  life, 
As  vigour  from  the  air, 

!Nor  wresting  it  with  ruthless  hands, 
Spoiling  our  brother's  share. 

Here  shall  our  children  keep  alive 

The  passion  for  the  right — 
The  cause  of  justice  in  the  world, 

That  was  our  father's  fight. 
For  this  the  fair-haired  stripling  rode, 

The  dauntless  veteran  died, 
Tor  this  we  keep  the  ancient  code 

In  stubbornness  and  pride. 

O  South,  bring  all  your  chivalry; 

And  West,  give  all  your  heart; 
And  East,  your  old,  untarnished  dreams 

Of  progress  and  of  art! 
Bid  waste  and  war  to  be  no  more. 

Bid  wanton  riot  cease; 
At  your  command  give  Lincoln's  land 

To  Paradise — to  peace. 

Bliss  Cabman 


[314] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


1 809— LI  NCOLN— 1 909 

ONE   night  while  Freedom   slept,  she   dreamed   she 
died, 

And  waked  all  pale  and  trembling — in  her  plight, 
Calling  on  God  to  hasten  to  her  side 

Some  champion  from  His  regiments  of  light. 
He  scanned  the  ranks  of  heav'n  and  there  espied 

One  parented  by  Poverty  and  Right — 
A  jesting  spirit  with  a  heart  of  tears — 
Who  started  lonely  down  the  road  of  years 

Serene  and  unafraid.     When  the  long  night 
Black  with  the  breath  of  battle,  drew  to  dawn, 
Fading  the  hosts  of  Fear  in  conquered  flight. 

It  showed  him  cold  and  still,  his  soul  withdrawn 
By  God's  own  hand  from  its  rude  sheath  of  clay 
To  shine  for  Liberty  in  deathless  day. 

Leigh  Mitchell  Hodges 


[315] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN-CHILD 

CLEAEING  in  the  forest, 
In  the  wild  Kentucky  forest, 

And  the  stars,  wintry  stars  strewn  above! 

O  Night  that  is  the  starriest 

Since  Earth  began  to  roll — 

For  a  Soul 

Is  born  out  of  love! 

Mother  love,  father  love,  love  of  Eternal  God — 

Stars  have  pushed  aside  to  let  him  through — 

Through  heaven's  sun-down  deeps 

One  sparkling  ray  of  God 

Strikes  the  clod — 

(And  while   an   angel-host  through  wood   and   clearing 
sweeps!) 

Born  in  the  Wild 

The  Child- 
leaked,  ruddy,  new. 

Wakes  with  the  piteous  human  cry  and  at  the  mother- 
heart  sleeps. 

To  the  mother  wild  berries  and  honey. 
To  the  father  awe  without  end, 
To  the  child  a  swaddling  of  flannel — 
And  a  dawn  rolls  sharp  and  sunny 
[316] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN-CHILD— [Confmtied] 
And  the  skies  of  winter  bend 
To  see  the  first  sweet  word  penned 
In  the  godliest  human  annal. 

Frail  Mother  of  the  Wilderness — 
How  strange  the  world  shines  in, 
And  the  cabin  becoihes  a  chapel 
And  the  babe  lies  secure — 
Sweet  Mother  of  the  Wilderness, 
N^ew  worlds  for  you  begin, 
You  have  tasted  of  the  apple 
That  giveth  wisdom  sure,  .  .  . 

Do  you  dream,  as  all  Mothers  dream, 

That  the  child  at  your  heart 

Is  a  marvel  apart, 

A  frail  star-beam 

Unearthly  splendid? 

Ah,  you  are  the  one  mother 

Whose  dream  shall  come  true. 

Though  another,  not  you, 

Shall  see  it  ended. 

Soon  in  the  wide  wilderness. 

On  a  branch  blown  over  a  creek, 

Up  a  trail  of  the  wild  coon. 

In  a  lair  of  the  wild  bee. 

The  rugged  boy,  by  Danger's  stress. 

Learnt  the  speech  the  wild  things  speak, 

[317] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN-CHILD—  [ Continued] 

Learnt  the  Earth's  eternal  tune 

Of  strife-engendered  harmony — 

Went  to  school  where  Life  itself  was  master, 

Went  to  church  where  Earth  was  minister — 

And  in  Danger  and  Disaster 

Felt  his  future  manhood  stir! 

All  about  him  lay  the  land, 

Eastern  cities.  Western  prairie, 

Wild,  immeasurable,  grand. 

But  he  was  lost  where  blossomy  boughs  make  airy 

Bowers  in  the  forest,  and  the  sand 

Makes  brook-water  a  clear  mirror  that  gives  back 

Green  branches  and  trunks  black 

And  clouds  across  the  heavens  lightly  fanned. 

Yet  all  the  Future  dreams,  eager  to  waken, 
Within  the  woodland  soul — 
And  the  bough  of  boy  has  only  to  be  shaken 
That  the  fruit  drop  whereby  this  Earth  shall  roll 
A  little  nearer  manhood  than  before. 
Little  recks  he  of  war, 

Of  national  millions  waiting  on  his  word — 
Dreams  still  the  Event  unstirred 
In  the  heart  of  the  bov,  the  little  babe  of  the  wild— 
But  the  years  hurry  and  the  tide  of  the  sea 
Of  Time  flows  fast  and  ebbs,  and  he,  even  he. 
Must  leave  the  wilderness,  the  wood-haunts  wild — 
[318] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN-CHILD— [Continued] 

Soon  shall  the  cyclone  of  Humanity 
Tearing  through  Earth  suck  up  this  little  child 
And  whirl  him  to  the  top,  where  he  shall  be 
Riding  the  storm-column  in  the  lightning-stroke, 
Calm  at  the  peak,  while  down  below  worlds  rage, 
And  Earth  goes  out  in  blood  and  battle-smoke, 
And  leaves  him  with  the  sun — an  epoch  and  an  age! 

Hushed  be  our  hearts,  and  veneration 

Steep  us  in  joy, 

Hushed  be  our  mills,  while  a  saved  nation 

Eeveres  this  boy! 

Hushed  be  our  homes,  while  a  holy  elation 

Makes  the  heart  mild — 

Each  home  has  a  child 

And  we  worship  a  race  of  Lincolns  in  each  that  we  love ! 

No,  they  may  not  stand  above 

The  storm  and  steer  the  States, 

These  little  children  that  are  born  from  us — 

No,  they  may  no  Lincolns  prove 

In  the  grandeur  of  their  fates — 

But  Lincolns  let  them  be  in  the  heart  and  in  the  soul — 

Even  thus 

Shall  our  Earth  again  toward  God  a  little  swifter,  nearer 

roll, 
Even  thus 
Shall  our  children  touch  the  stars  where  we  have  only 

glimpsed  the  Goal. 

[319] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LmCOJjN-CUlU)— [Continued] 

Even  thus  and  only  thus 

Through  the  Future's  arch-like  span 

May  they  go  American ! 

In  his  spirit  shall  they  grow, 

To  his  law  they  shall  be  bound, 

With  his  light  of  God  shall  glow. 

With  his  love  of  Man  be  crowned!  \ 

Think  of  the  miracle! 

A  child  so  like  our  child, 

A  babe  born  in  the  wild, 

A  little  clod  of  clay,  sweet  blossoming  and  beautiful, 

Earth  that  is  dumb  and  dead, 

Earth  risen  in  child-shape, 

And  suddenly  agape 

Are  the  eyes  and  lips,  and  spread 

Is  the  heart  and  coiled  the  brain — 

And  lo,  the  Silences  are  slain — 

In  our  Wilderness  of  Silence  where  we  were  only  two, 

Man  and  Wife, 

Comes  this  third  and  like  the  voice  of  God  breaks  through 

With  his  life^ 

And  he  answers  back  our  Silence  with  his  babbling,  wordy 

strife — 
Born  of  woman, 
Born  of  man. 
He  is  human 
And  he  can 
[320] 


THE   LIKCOLX   SPRIXG  FROINr    WHICH   IIXCOLN   DRANK   WHEX    A   CHILD, 
ON  THE  LINCOLK   FARM   AT   HODGENSVILLE,   KENTUCKY 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LlNCOLN-CRlLJy— [Continued] 

Grow  beyond  us  in  the  grandeur  we  began ! 

And  none  greater  than  this  boy 

Whom  this  day 

We  revere  with  holy  joy, 

And  we  thank  the  stars  the  clay 

In  Kentucky  took  on  human  shape  and  spoke, 

In  the  Wilderness  awoke, 

In  the  woodlands  grew  a  creature  of  the  wild, 

This  February  child ! 

And  lo,   as  he  grew,  ugly,  gaunt. 

And  gnarled  his  way  into  a  man, 

What  wisdom  came  to  feed  his  want. 

What  worlds  came  near  to  let  him  scan — 

And  as  he  fathomed  through  and  through 

Our  dark  and  sorry  human  scheme, 

He  knew  what  Shakespeare  never  knew, 

What  Dante  never  dared  to  dream — 

That  Men  are  one 

Beneath  the  sun. 

And  one  in  life  are  equal  souls — 

This  truth  was  his. 

And  this  it  is 

That  round  him  such  a  glory  rolls — 

For  not  alone  he  knew  it  as  a  truth, 

He  made  it  of  his  blood  and  of  his  brain — 

He  crowned  it  on  the  day  when  piteous  Booth 

[321] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN-CHILD— [Con/mMcrf] 

Sent  a  whole  land  to  weeping  with  world-pain — 
When  a  black  cloud  blotted  the  sun 
And  men  stopped  in  the  streets  to  sob, 
To  think  Old  Abe  was  dead — 
Dead,  and  the  day's  work  still  undone, 
Dead,  and  war's  ruining  heart  athrob, 
And  earth  with  fields  of  carnage  freshly  spread — 
Millions  died  fighting, 
But  in  this  man  we  mourned 
Those  millions,  and  one  other — 
And  the  States  to-day  uniting, 
North  and  South, 
East  and  West, 
Speak  with  a  people's  mouth 
A  rhapsody  of  rest 
To  him  our  beloved  best. 
Our  big,  gaunt,  homely  brother — 
Our  huge  Atlantic  coast-storm  in  a  shawl, 
Our  cyclone  in  a  smile — our  President, 
Who  knew  and  loved  us  all 
With  love  more  eloquent 

Than  his  own  words — with  Love  that  in  real  deeds  was 
spent. 

Shelley's  was  a  world  of  Love, 
Carlyle's  was  a  world  of  Work, 
But  Lincoln's  was  a  world  above 
That  of  a  dreamer  or  a  clerk — 
[322] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN-CHILD— [Con<m«ecZ] 

Lincoln  wed  the  one  to  the  other — 

Made  his  a  world  where  love  gets  into  deeds — 

Where  man  was  more  than  merely  brother, 

Where  the  high  Love  was  meeting  human  needs! 

And  lo,  he  made  this  plan 

Memorably  American! 

Through  all  his  life  this  mighty  Faith  unfurled! 

Oh,  let  us  see,  and  let  us  know 

That  if  our  hearts  could  catch  his  glow 

A  faith  like  Lincoln's  would  transform  the  world! 

Oh,  to  pour  love  through  deeds — 

To  be  as  Lincoln  was! 

That  all  the  land  might  fill  its  daily  needs 

Glorified  by  a  human  Cause! 

Then  were  America  a  vast  World-Torch 

Flaming  a  faith  across  the  dying  Earth, 

Proclaiming  from  the  Atlantic's  rocky  porch 

That  a  New  World  was  struggling  at  the  Birth! 

Ah,  is  this  not  the  day 

That  rolls  the  Earth  back  to  that  mighty  hour 

When  the  sweet  babe  in  the  log-cabin  lay 

And  God  was  in  the  room,  a  Presence  and  a  Power  ?- 

When  all  was  sacred — even  the  father's  heart — 

And  the  stirred  Wilderness  stood  still, 

And  roaring  flume  and  shining  hill 

Felt  the  workings  of  God's  Will  ? 

[323] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN-CHILD— [CoMtintted] 

O  living  God,  O  Thou  who  living  art, 

And  real,  and  near,  draw,  as  at  that  babe's  birth. 

Into  our  souls  and  sanctify  our  Earth — 

Let  down  Thy  strength  that  we  endure 

Mighty  and  pure 

As  mothers  and  fathers  of  our  own  Lincoln-child — 

Make  us  more  wise,  more  true,  more  strong,  more  mild, 

That  we  may  day  by  day 

Rear  this  wild  blossom  through  its  soft  petals  of  clay, 

That  hour  by  hour 

We  may  endow  it  with  more  human  power 

Than  is  our  own — 

That  it  may  reach  the  goal 

Our  Lincoln  long  has  shown! — 

O  Child — flesh  of  our  flesh,  bone  of  our  bone. 

Soul  torn  from  out  our  Soul! 

May  you  be  great,  and  pure,  and  beautiful — 

A  Soul  to  search  this  world 

To  be  a  father,  brother,  comrade,  son, 

A  toiler  powerful, 

A  man  with,  strength  unfurled, 

A  man  whose  toil  is  done 

One  with  God's  Law  above. 

Work  wrought  through  Love! 


James  Oppenheim 


[3241 


XI.     MISCELLANIES 


''Grave  was  his  visage,  hut  no  cloud  could  dull 
The  radiance  from  within  that  made  it  beautiful.' 


ABRAHAM   LIKCOLN   AS    HE    LOOKED    IN    1864 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ON  A  PICTURE  OF  LINCOLN 

IKEAD  once  more  this  care-worn,  patient  face, 
Ajid  learn  anew  that  sorrow  is  the  dower 
Of  him  that  sinks  himself  to  lift  his  race 
Into  the  seat  of  peace  and  power. 

How  beautiful  the  homely  features  grow, 

How  soft  the  light  from  out  the  mild,  sad  eyes, 

The  gleam  from  deeps  of  grief  the  soul  must  know 
To  be  so  great — so  kind,  so  wise! 

John  Vance  Cheney 


[327] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


HIS  FACE 

THEY  tell  you  Lincoln  was  ungainly,  plain? 
To  some  lie  seemed  so:  true. 
Yet  in  his  look  was  charm  to  gain 

E'en  such  as  I,  who  knew 
With  how  conjBrmed  a  will  he  tried 
To  overthrow  a  cause  for  which  I  would  have  died. 

The  sun  may  shine  with  naught  to  shroud 

Its  beam,  yet  show  less  bright 
Than  when  from  out  eclipsing  cloud 

It  pours  its  radiant  light; 
And  Lincoln,  seen  amid  the  shows  of  war 
Clothed  in  his  sober  black,  was  somehow  felt  the  more 

To  be  a  centre  and  a  soul  of  power — 

An  influence  benign 
To  kindle  in  a  faithless  hour 

New  trust  in  the  divine. 
Grave  was  his  visage,  but  no  cloud  could  dull 
The  radiance  from  within  that  made  it  beautiful. 

A  prisoner,  when  I  saw  him  first — 

Wounded  and  sick  for  home — 
His  presence  soothed  my  yearning's  thirst 

While  yet  his  lips  were  dumb ; 

[328] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


HIS  FACE— [Continued'] 

For  such  compassion  as  his  countenance  wore 
I  had  not  seen  nor  felt  in  human  face  before. 

And  when,  low-bending  o'er  his  foe, 

He  took  in  his  firm  hand 
My  wasted  one,  I  seemed  to  know 

We  two  were  of  one  Land; 
And  as  my  cheek  flushed  warm  with  young  surprise, 
God's  pity  looked  on  me  from  Lincoln's  sorrowing  eyes. 

His  prisoner  I  was  from  then — 

Love  makes  surrender  sure — 
And  though  I  saw  him  not  again, 

Some  memories  endure, 
And  I  am  glad  my  untaught  worship  knew 
His  the  divinest  face  I  ever  looked  into! 

Flobence  Eaele  Coates 


[329] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  EYES  OF  LINCOLN 

SAD  eyes,  that  were  patient  and  temder,  sad  eyes,  that 
were  steadfast  and  true,  and  "warm  with  the  un- 
changing splendour  of  courage  no  ills  could  subdue. 
Eyes  dark  with  the  dread  of  the  morrow,  and  wo  for 
the  day  that  was  gone,  the  sleepless  companions  of  sor- 
row, the  watchers  that  witness  the  dawn.  Eyes  tired 
from  the  clamour  and  goading,  and  dim  from  the  stress 
of  the  years,  and  hallowed  by  pain  and  foreboding,  and 
strained  by  repression  of  tears.  Sad  eyes  that  were 
wearied  and  blighted  by  visions  of  sieges  and  wars,  now 
watch  o'er  a  country  united  from  the  luminous  slopes  of 
the  stars. 

Walt  Mason 


[330] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


A  LINCOLN  LEGEND 

"The  farmers  in  central  Illinois  claim  that  the  brown 
thrush  did  not  sing  for  a  year  after  he  died." — From 
ISTicolay  and  Hay's  Life  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 

JUST  fifty  years  ago  to-day 
The  brown  thrush    checked   its  liquid  song!       How 
could 
It  thrill  its  roundelay  when  one  who  loved 
All  helpless  things  lay  mute  and  cold!     When  hands 
Which  oft  had  raised  the  fallen  fledglings  up 
And  placed  them  gently  back  in  their  home  nest- 
Were  smitten  down — forever  stilled !     Not  for 
A  year,  the  legends  say,  did  throstles  sing 
Again.     Then  o'er  the  hushed  and  mourning  world 
They  poured  their  carols  forth  once  more — as  though 
Rejoicing  that  the  spirit-dawn,  for  which 
Their  comrade  hourly  prayed,  had  broken  o'er 
The  stricken  earth.    Time's  healing  touch  but  more 
Endeared  that  tender,   all-compassionate  heart 
Whose  deathless  fame  has  now  become  world  wide — 
As  universal  as  the  air,  as  high 
And  deeply  rooted  as  the  rugged  hills. 

Charlotte  Bkewster  Jordan" 

[331] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


A  BIRD  IN  LINCOLN'S  TOMB 

WHAT  name  is  this  ?    Art  more  than  voice 
Song-bird  thou  canst  not  be! 
Thou  seemest  neitber  to  rejoice 

Nor  mourn,  with  tones  so  free ! 


With  slow,  delaying,  pilgrim  feet, 
Like  one  within  the  vail, 

I  pause  to  rest,  and  tones  more  sweet 
Commingle  with  thy  wail! 

Lo!  all  the  choristers  of  Spring, 

Around  this  holy  spot, 
Tender  returning  strophes  sing, 

For  Lincoln  unforgot! 


Beside  Ohio's  curving  stream, 

On  that  death-darkened  mom, 

The  rush  of  an  appalling  dream 
To  my  young  ears  was  born. 
[832] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


A  BIRD  IN  LINCOLN'S  TOMB—iContinued] 
Assassination !      Ingi-ate  word ! 

Millions  wept  long  and  sore; 
My  little  life  was  sadly  stirred — 

Time  moved  it  more  and  more. 

Oh,  priceless  boon!     I've  lived  to  count 
My  country's  pulse  with  mine;  . 

In  love  to  climb  this  sacred  mount 
That  holds  this  precious  shrine! 

What  more  is  grief,  or  bliss,  or  care, 
The  space  left  one  to  breathe? — 

Hands  that  have  touched  this  gTanite  fair 
!No  other  urn  would  wreathe. 

The  lilacs  of  that  April  day 

Drooped  when  our  Martyr  fell, 

.When  his  vast  land  in  mourning  lay, 
And  none  its  wo  could  tell. 

Pity  the  woman's  heart  that  here 
No  dew  hath  left  to  shed! 

Condole  the  man  who  owns  no  tear 
For  this  most  noble  dead! 

We  charge  you,  guard  his  ashes  well! 

From  year  to  year  your  guard 
The  pathos  of  his  death  shall  tell — 

'No  more  could  bay  or  bard. 

[333] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


A  BIRD  IN  LINCOLN'S  TOMB— [Continued] 

Statesmen  of  his  devoted  st^te, 

Where  once  the  Illini 
Numbered  their  hordes,  a  people  great, 
For  progress  doomed  to  die, 

We  of  the  Commonwealth  implore. 
We  charge,  aye,  we  command, 

Watch  you  his  rest  forevermore. 
So  long  his  fame  shall  stand! 

Emily  Thachee  Bennett 


[334] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


CITIZENSHIP 

CITIZEN  I — ^by  birth  or  grant  of  court. 
Yet  am  I  citizen?     What  this  estate 
Which  gives  me  right  to  share  in  my  own  rule, 
And  all  my  country's  progress  help  dictate? 

Is  it  to  gain  for  me  and  mine  alone 

Some  stronger  hold  on  chattels  that  breed  power; 

To  constitute  my  property  a  throne 

That  mothers  safety  in  an  evil  hour? 

Or  is  it  to  enlarge  my  power  to  give 

Such  as  I  have  of  sense  and  strength,  that  they 

Who  likewise  give,  may  find  in  me  a  mate — 

All  of  us  working  for  a  better  day 

When  justice  to  each  woman,  man  and  child 

Shall  challenge  poverty  and  make  for  peace; 

When  Right,  where'er  assailed,  shall  hither  turn, 

Sure  of  a  righteous  nation's  swift  release  ? 

If  Lincoln  lived,  and  read  this  questioning  line, 
What  would  his  answer  be?    Let  that  be  mine! 

Leigh  Mitchell  Hodges 


[335] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


AMERICA  TO  EUROPE 

THE  air  is  vibrant  as  if  some  cosmic  jar 
Had  shaken  every  land  where  motley  millions  dwell, 
As  if  this  orb  had  crossed  the  path  of  angry  star 
And  loosed  the  noise,  the  stench,  the  agonies  of  hell. 
!N"o  mountain  summit,  nay,  no  hollow  cavern  hides 
The  heart  of  man  whose  fever-tortured  throbs 
Clutch  not  at  straws  of  hope  on  passion  tides 
Where  universal  hatred  stabs  and  robs. 

Once  more  with  blood  the  storied  rivers  thicken. 

Once  more  rude  cannons  shame  the  lowly  plough, 

And  once  again  must  smaller  crowns  be  stricken 

To  clear  the  way  for  one  who  here  and  now 

Decrees  to  test  imperious  will  and  power. 

Where  Caesar  fought,  where  rushed  Xapoleon's  legions, 

Where  Bismarck's  stubborn  plans  hurled  conq'ring  train, 

WTiere  art  was  shrined  to  bless  all  distant  regions, 

There  strides  some  lord  on  pyramids  of  slain 

To  flaunt  triumphant  crest  for  blood-stained  hour. 

O,  may  a  voice  from  overseas  be  raised 
To  plead  one  thought  of  slaughter's  worth. 
One  peaceful  thought  ere  all  the  world  is  crazed 
With  lust  of  blood,  of  power,  or  heaped-up  gold  ? 
[336] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


AMERICA  TO  ElfROVE— [Continued] 

Here  valiant  Washington  once  led 

A  struggling  host  to  give  a  nation  birth ; 

But,  O,  before  the  flame  of  strife  was  cold, 

Before  the  vanquished  armies  fled, 

His  love  of  home  had  thrilled  the  hearts  of  earth 

And,  linked  with  peace,  his  name  was  loved  and  praised. 

Anon  Columbia's  breasts  a  viper  nursed, 

Till  father's  heavy  sword  smote  cherished  son; 

Wild  furies  parched  the  fields  and  cursed 

The  land,  were  dismal  battles  lost  or  won. 

Ah,  yes,  'tis  true,  a  brilliant  courage  dashed 

When  ranks,  swift  grappling,  fell  for  Grant  or  Lee, 

And  high  did  valour  rise  when  ironclads  crashed 

To  crimson-blotch  the  all-engulfing  sea. 

O  glorious  dawn  that  bade  the  war  to  cease! 

O  patient  years  that  healed  the  gaping  scars! 

Above  the  spears  lift  up,  O  waiting  stars. 

The  victor's  fervent  prayer:  "Let  us  have  peace!" 

If  soldier's  plea  to  soldier  be  in  vain, 

Or  memory  of  wars,  let  one  implore 

Whose  humble  heart  knew  every  mortal  pain — 

A  manly  man,  who  mighty  burdens  bore, 

Who  held  aloft  a  nation's  flick'ring  light. 

O  Europe,  raise  a  Lincoln  for  thy  need! 

Behold,   O  kings,   a  modern  prophet's  call! 

[337] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


AMERICA  TO  EUROTE— [Continued] 

A  tender  hand  where  wounds  of  foemen  bleed — 
"ISTo  malice  here,"  but  "charity  for  all." 
Divinely  human !     O  men,  arise  and  heed ! 
"Achieve,  as  God  gives  us  to  see  the  right." 

Edmond  S.  Meant 


[338] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN  AND  DARWIN 

BORN"  on  the  selfsame  day,  wide  seas  apart, 
The  Nazarean  statesman  of  the  West, 
Divinely  sorrowful,   divinely  blest, 
The  travail  of  two  races  in  his  heart; 
And  he  who  stalked  shy  truth  with  perfect  art, 
TJnfearing  as  the  martyrs  in  his  quest, 
A  modern  prophet  of  the  gi-eat  unguest, 
A.  voyager  reshaping  the  world's  chart. 

Both  freemen  in  themselves  and  making  free, 
Nor  less  the  one  a  doer  of  gi-eat  deeds 

That  he  pursued  the  quiet  paths  of  thought; 
Nor  less  the  statesman  and  the  warrior  wrought 
To  disillusion  men  of  olden  creeds: 
Emancipators  both  all  time  to  be. 

ROBEET   WhITAKEE 


[339] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

LINCOLN !    "Thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour !" 
Thy  reach  of  vision — prophet  thou  and  seer — 

Thy  strong  and  steadfast  wisdom,  judgment  clear, 
Are  needed  in  this  stress,  thy  old-time  power 
The  ship  of  state  to  save  from  storms  that  lower 

And  threaten  to  engulf.    Dark  reefs  loom  near ! 

No  "watchful  waiting"  will  avail  us  here. 
That  wind-swept,  tossing  ship  past  rocks  that  tower 
To  guide  to  sunlit  waters — calm,  serene. 

Oh!  for  a  leader,  fearless,  strong,  and  wise, 
Of  swift  decision,  and  with  insight  keen  . 

To  see  the  dangers;  scorn  all  compromise; 

Kestore  the  honour  lost,  the  faith  we  prize, 
And  bring  us  back  the  glory  that  hath  been ! 

Kenyon  West 


[340] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


A  FARMER  REMEMBERS  LINCOLN 

LINCOLN?— 
Well,  I  was  in  the  old  Second  Maine, 
The  first  regiment  in  Washington  from  the  Pine  Tree 

State. 
Of  course,  I  didn't  get  the  butt  of  the  clip; 
We  was  there  for  guardin'  Washington — 
We  was  all  green. 


"I  ain't  never  ben  to  but  one  theatre  in  my  life — 

I  didn't  know  how  to  behave. 

I  ain't  never  ben  since. 

I  can  see  as  plain  as  my  hat  the  box  where  he  sat  in 

When  he  was  shot. 

I  can  tell  you,  sir,  there  was  quite  a  panic 

When  we  found  our  President  was  in  the  shape  he  was  in ! 

Never  saw  a  soldier  in  the  world  but  what  liked  him. 

"Yes,  sir.     His  looks  was  kind  o'  hard  to  forget. 

He  was  a  spare  man. 

An  old  farmer. 

Everything  was  all  right,  you  know, 

But  he  wasn't  a  smooth-appearin'  man  at  all — 

Not  in  no  ways; 

Thin-faced,  long-necked. 

And  a  swellin'  kind  of  a  thick  lip  like. 

[341] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


A  FARMER  REMEMBERS  LINCOLN— [Con imued] 

"And  he  was  a  jolly  old  fellow — always  cheerful; 

He  wa'n't  so  high  but  the  boys  could  talk  to  him  their 

own  ways. 
While  I  was  sei-vin'  at  the  Hospital 
He'd  come  in  and  say,  'You  look  nice  in  here,' 
Praise  us  up,  you  know. 
And  he'd  bend  over  and  talk  to  the  boys — 
And  he'd  talk  so  good  to  'em — so  close — 
That's  why  I  call  him  a  farmer. 
I  don't  mean  that  everything  about  him  wa'n't  all  right, 

you  understand, 
It's  just — well,  I  was  a  farmer — 
And  he  was  my  neighbour,  anybody's  neighbour. 

"I  guess  even  you  young  folks  would  'a'  liked  him." 

WiTTEE  Bynnee 


[342] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN  HIGHWAY 

THREE  thousand  miles  from  sea  to  sea, 
A  great  highway  is  built  to  span 
The  continent  where  man  is  free, 
And  no  man  bends  the  knee  to  man. 

Broad  and  straight  and  smooth  and  fine, 
It  binds  the  East  unto  the  West, 
And  both  may  pass  in  God's  sunshine, 
And  each  may  learn  it  is  not  hest^ 

But  all  is  good  in  this  fair  land, 
Tho'  West  is  West  and  East  is  East, 
And  mother  nature's  lavish  hand 
Has  set  no  Barmecidal  feast. 

No  royal  coach  shall  pass  this  way, 
Nor  lord  of  war  in  triumph  ride; 
No  juggernaut  of  "kultur"   prey 
And  cast  its  human  wrecks  aside. 

But  they  who  use  this  way  shall  see, 
In  plain  and  mountain,  lake  and  glen, 
A  country  fit  for  liberty — 
For  men  who  love  their  fellow  men. 

[343] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN  HIGHWAY— [Conhnued] 

And  as  they  pass  may  truly  sing 

''Land  of  the  Free,"  since  Lincoln  taught, 

And  to  his  shrine  a  tribute  bring, 

And  thank  their  God  a  Lincoln  wrought. 

WOODBUEY  PULSIFEE 


[344] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN 

OH,  not  in  kaisers  or  in  kings 
The  hope  of  man  we  seek! 
Their  glitt'ring  sceptres,  crowns  and  rings 

Are  baubles  for  the  weak; 
But  we  whose  feet  are  firmly  set 

On  freedom's  broad  highway, 
We  seek  man's  hope  far  deeper  yet 

Than  kingly  pomp  or  sway — 
We  seek  it  in  the  people's  sweat 

And  in  their  blood,  to-day! 

We  seek  man's  hope — nor  seek  in  vain — 

Where  dreamers  work  and  wait, 
Where  boys  in  poverty  and  pain 

Are  growing  to  be  great; 
Where  boys  like  Lincoln,  poor  and  plain, 

But  strong  of  hand  and  heart. 
Grow  upward,  through  the  sun  and  rain, 

To  play  the  hero's  part — 
To  cleanse  the  country  from  the  stain 

0f  manhood  in  the  mart! 

Oh,  let  the  kaisers  and  the  kings 
At  rule  and  sceptre  play! 

[345] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN—  [  Continued] 

Man's  hope  is  not  in  crowns  and  rings, 

And  baubles  such  as  they. 
But  wheresoever  hearts  aspire 

To  break  a  Christless  ban, 
The  name  of  Lincoln  shall  inspire 

To  higher  hope  and  plan, 
And  stir  the  generous  soul's  desire 

To  live  and  die  for  man! 

Denis  A.  McCaethy 


[346] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  HAT 

THE  relic  of  a  past  decade, 
It  hangs  upon  the  rack, 
An  ancient  beaver,  narrow-brimmed, 

Bell-crowned  and  rusty-black. 
Though  out  of  fashion  fifty  falls, 

I  pray  you  do  not  smile. 
But  pass  it  with  a  grave*  salute, 
For  this  was  Lincoln's  tile. 

He  left  it  in  a  hot  campaign, 

Long  years  and  years  ago. 
Ere  Dixie's  broad  savannahs  heard 

The  wild  war-bugles  blow. 
He  hung  it  up,  and  rode  away 

One  morning  from  the  town, 
To  wear  a  fadeless  laurel-wreath 

Beneath  a  martyr's  crown. 

The  head  it  decked  was  never  filled 

With  one  ignoble  thought, 
The  busy  shuttle  of  his  brain 

For  truth  and  freedom  wrought. 

[347] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  EAT— [Continued] 

So  always  when  you  cast  a  vote 

Be  very  certain  that 
The  candidate  you  choose  is  fit 

To  wear  it — Lincoln's  hat. 

Minna  Ieving 


[348] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


L 


LINCOLN'S  WAY 

ARGE  and  loving,  rudely  tender,  with  a  heart  that 

knew  no  fear. 

Stern  as  granite  for  a  principle,  yet  melting  at  a  tear — 
Father  Abraham,  they  called  him,  this  sublime  yet  simple 

man. 
In  whose  veins  the  ardent  humanhood  of  Old  Kentucky 

ran. 

Dear  to  him  the  cause  of  Freedom,  for  the  black  as  for 

the  white; 
Dear  to  him  the  common  soldier  who  was  with  him  in 

his  fight; 
But  if  one  perchance  should  falter,  with  his  life  he  must 

atone : 
He  was  past  all  human   pardon,   save  the  President's 

alone. 

'Now  a  father,  poor  and  aged,  bowed  alike  witH  years 

and  wo, 
Crushed  by  all  the  pain  and  sorrow  that  a  parent's  heart 

can  know. 
Brought,    despairing,    his   petition;    he   would   plead    in 

Lincoln's  ear; 
And  he  prayed  to  heaven  for  mercy,  that  through  God's 

love,  man  might  hear. 

[349] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  WAY— [Continued] 

"My  two  sons,  my  only  children,  to  the  Union's  cause  I 

gave, 
One   lies   buried   in  Virginia   in   an   unknown   soldier's 

grave. 
And  the  other,  last  and  dearest — for  what  error  I  know 

not — 
Is  condemned  as  a  deserter,  and  is  sentenced  to  be  shot.'' 

"My  old  friend,"  said  Lincoln,  kindly,  "there  has  inquiry 
been  made, 

And  the  execution,  meanwhile,  I  have  caused  to  be  de- 
layed 

Until  further  orders  from  me.  This  one  fact  at  least, 
I  know: 

Your  young  man  can  serve  us  better  here  above  ground 
than  below." 

"God  be  thanked!"  the  old  man,  trembling,  cried,  "and 

blessings  on  your  name ! 
But — but — what  if  they  should  execute  him  when  your 

orders  came  ?" 
"!N'ever  fear !  before  I  order  that,"  said  Lincoln,  grim 

and  sage — 
"Well,  your  son  will  beat  Methuselah,  or  die  of  sheer 

old  age!" 

Heney  Tyeeell 


[350] 


ABRAHAM   LINCOLN    WITH    HIS   SON    THOMAS    ("tAd") 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  PEW 

WITHINT  the  historic  church  both  eye  and  soul 
Perceived  it.  'Twas  the  pew  where  Lincoln  sat- 
The  only  Lincoln  God  hath  given  to  men — 
Olden  among  the  modern  seats  of  prayer, 
Dark  like  the  'sixties,  place  and  past  akin. 
All  else  has  changed,  but  this  remains  the  same, 
A  sanctuary  in  a  sanctuary. 

Where  Lincoln  prayed!    What  passion  had  his  soul — 
Mixt  faith  and  anguish  melting  into  prayer 
Upon  the  burning  altar  of  God's  fane, 
A  nation's  altar  even  as  his  own. 

Where  Lincoln  prayed !    Such  worshippers  as  he 
Make  thin  ranks  down  the  ages.    Wouldst  thou  know 
His  spirit  suppliant?     Then  must  thou  feel 
War's  fiery  baptism,  taste  hate's  bitter  cup, 
Spend  similar  sweat  of  blood  vicarious. 
And  sound  the  cry,  "If  it  be  possible!'* 
From  stricken  heart  in  new  Gethsemane. 

Who  saw  him  there  are  gone,  as  he  is  gone ; 
The  pew  remains,  with  what  God  gave  him  there, 

[351] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN'S  PEW— [Continuedl 

And  all  the  world  through  him.     So  let  it  be- 
One  of  the  people's  shrines. 


Lyman  Whitney  Allen 

The  above  poem  is  inscribed  on  a  tablet  on  the  pew  which  Lin- 
coln occupied  in  the  New  York  Avenue  Presbyterian  Church,  at 
Washington,  D.  C. 


[352] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


THE  LINCOLN  HIGHWAY 

TO  save  the  land,  then  rent  in  twain, 
And  end  the  fratricidal  strife, 
Th'  immortal  Lincoln  by  his  death 
But  crown'd  his  sacrificial  life. 

To  join  the  land,  from  shore  to  shore, 

Each  part  to  other  bound, 
And  make  us  each  to  other  kin, 

This  Highway  will  be  found. 

C.  G,  Dickson 


[353] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


HEROES  OF  YESTERDAY 

GEANT  is  asleep  in  his  great  white  tomb,  where  the 
Hudson  tides  are  deep; 
And  Sheridan  and  Sherman  lie  on  marble  beds  asleep; 
And  all  the  men  that  led  our  men  on  the  bloody  fields 

we  won — 
They  sleep  'neath  the  marble  meet  for  them  that  heroes' 

work  have  done; 
But  what  of  the  men  the  heroes  led — of  Smith  and  Rob- 
inson ? 

It  was  good  to  die  on  the  firing-line  if  you  died  to  set 

men  free; 
It  was  good  to  die  when  the  cannon  screamed  in  the  days 

of  Sixty-three; 
And  we  of  a  younger,  softer  race — we  look  with  a  brief 

regret 
At  the  modest  mounds   where  the  unknown  dead   are 

modest  and  silent  yet: 
Smith  and  Robinson  lie  so  still — and  we  forget — forget! 

And  other  Smiths  and  Robinsons — you  count  them  on 

your  hand — 
To-day  ^o  hobbling  up  the  street,  behind  the  village  band, 
[354] 


LINCOLN  AND   HIS  GENERALS   WITH   THE   ARMY  OF  THE 
POTOMAC  AT  ANTIETAM 

From  a  ivar-time  photograph 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


HEROES  OF  YESTERDAY— [Con<wtted] 

To    where    encamped    their    comrade-dead    in    sunken 

bivouac  lie; 
The  Robinsons  and  Smiths,  you  know,  who  hadn't  the 

luck  to  die. 

Oh,  can't  you  see,  and  won't  you  see,  and  won't  you  hold 

it  true, 
That  these  old  men  had  ties  as  dear  to  them  as  yours  to 

you? 
And  won't  you  quit  your  secret  sneer  and  open,  empty 

praise — 
The  inward  smile  at  the  selfsame  while  you  wreathe  the 

formal  bays — 
To  pay  the  simple  debt  you  owe  these  men  of  other  days  ? 

The  things  they  loved  they  left,  and  died — or  those  who 

still  endure 
A  moment  longer  stumble  on,  decrepit,  smiled  at,  poor ! 
Is  this  the  lot  that  you  decree 
To  them  who  risked,  to  set  men  free, 
All  that  was  theirs  to  do  or  be? 
Sheridan,  Sherman,  Grant — is  this  the  end  of  all  they 

won? 
Is  this  their  country's  payment  to  Smith  and  Robinson? 

Reginald  Weight  Kauffman 


[355] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WE  ARE  COMING,  FATHER  ABRAHAM 

WE   are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred 
thousand  more, 
From  Mississippi's  winding  stream  and  from  New  Eng- 
land's shore; 
We  leave  our   ploughs   and   workshops,   our  wives   and 

children  dear. 
With  hearts  too  full  for  utterance  and  but  a  silent  tear, 
We  dare  not  look  behind  us,  but  steadily  before. 
We  are  coming.  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand 
more. 
We  are  coming,   coming,   coming;  we  are  coming, 

coming,  coming; 
We   are  coming.   Father  Abraham,   three  hundred 
thousand  more. 

If  you  look  across  the  hill-tops  that  meet  our  Northern 

sky, 
Long  moving  lines  of  rising  dust  your  vision  may  descry ; 
And  now  the  wind  an  instant  tears  the  cloudy  veil  aside, 
And  floats  aloft  our  spangled  flag  in  glory  and  in  pride, 
And  bayonets  in  the  sunlight  gleam   and  bands  brave 

music  pour — 
We  are  coming.  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand 

more. 
[356] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WE  ARE  COMING,  FATHER  ABRAHAM— [ConimwecZ] 

We  are  coming,  coming,  coming;  we  are  coming, 

coming,  coming; 
We   are  coming,   Father   Abraham,   three  hundred 

thousand  more. 

If  you  look  all   down  our  valleys,   where   the  growing 

harvests  shine, 
You  may  see  our  sturdy  farmer  boys  fast  falling  into 

line, 
And  children  at  their  mothers'  knees  are  pulling  at  the 

weeds, 
And  learning  how  to  reap  and  sow  against  their  country's 

needs. 
And  a  farewell  group  stands  weeping  at  every  cottage 

door — 
We  are  coming.  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thousand 

more. 
We  are  coming,  coming,  coming;   we  are  coming, 

coming,  coming; 
We  are  coming,   Father   Abraham,   three  hundred 

thousand  more. 

You  have  called  us  and  we're  coming  by  Richmond's 
bloody  tide, 

To  lay  us  down  for  freedom's  sake  our  brothers'  bones 
beside, 

Or  from  foul  treason's  savage  grasp  to  wrench  the  mur- 
derous blade. 

And  in  the  face  of  foreign  foes  its  fragments  to  parade; 

[357] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WE  AKE  COMING,  FATHER  ABRAHAM— [Continweij 

Six  hundred  thousand  loyal  men   and  true  have  gone 

before — 
We  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thou- 
sand more. 
We  are  coming,   coming,  coming;   we  are  coming, 

coming,  coming; 
We   are  coming,   Father   Abraham,   thi-ee   hundred 
thousand  more. 

James  Sloane  Gibbons 


[358] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


LINCOLN  LEADS 

ACROSS  the  page  of  history, 
As  in  a  looking-glass, 
Or  on  a  moving-picture  screen, 
The  nation's  heroes  pass; 
With  sword  and  mace  and  pen  they  pace 

In  epaulets  and  braid. 
And  some,  with  ruffles  at  their  wi'ists, 
In  linen  fine  arrayed. 

But  at  the  long  procession's  head, 

In  loose,  ill-fitting  clothes, 
A  lanky  woodsman  with  an  axe 

Upon  his  shoulder  goes; 
In  every  patriotic  heart 

The  figure  lean  and  tall 
Is  shrined  beside  the  starry  flag, 

For  Lincoln  leads  them  all. 

Minna  Ibvinq 


[359] 


XII.    WASHINGTON  AND  LINCOLN 


^^And  the  eternal  sentinels  shine  on. 


>y 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


PILLARS  OF  HERCULES 

Washington  and  Lincoln 

TWO  massive  rocks,  tradition-flung, 
Gibraltar  and  the  Afric  hill, 
Outlast  their  mythic  builder's  tongue 

And  guard  the  Eastern  gateway  still, 
Whence  freedom  sprang  when  states  were  young. 

Two  giant  men,  of  crises  born, 

The  country's  sire  and  sole  compeer, 

Loom  mighty  in  the  New- World  morn: 
The  one  impregnable,  austere; 

The  other  vibrant,  like  a  horn. 

Behold  them  as  they  tower  high. 

The  landmarks  of  our  civic  pride; 

They  buttress,  nerve  and  fortify 

The  yearning  millions  at  her  side. 

Strong  bulwarks  toward  the  Western  sky. 

Walter  F.  Longacee 


[363] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


WASHINGTON  AND  LINCOLN 

TW0  stars  alone  of  primal  magnitude, 
Twin   beacons   in  our   firmament   of   fame, 

Shine  for  all  men  with  benison  the  same: 
On  day's  loud  labour  by  the  night  renewed, 
On  templed  silences  where  none  intrude. 

On  leaders  followed  by  the  street's  acclaim, 

The  solitary  student  by  his  flame. 
The  watcher  in  the  battle's  interlude. 
All  ways  and  works  of  men  they  shine  upon ; 

And  now  and  then  beneath  their  golden  light 
A  sudden  meteor  reddens  and  is  gone ; 

And  now  and  then  a  star  grows  strangely  bright, 

Drawing  all  eyes,  then  dwindles  on  the  night; 
And  the  eternal  sentinels  shine  on. 

Wendell  Phillips  Stafford  . 


[364] 


AFTERWORD 


'Would  I  might  rouse  the  Lincoln  in  you  all! 


'>> 


NUMBER   516  TENTH   STREET,    WASHIXGTOX,   D.    C. 

The  house  to  which  Lincoln  was  carried  from  Ford's  Theatre,  April  14,  1865, 
where  he  died  the  following  morning  at  7:22  o'clock. 


AFTERWORD 


LINCOLN 


'TYT'OJJLD  I  might  rouse  the  Lincoln  in  you  all, 
rr  That  which  is  gendered  in  the  luilderness 

From  lonely  prairies  and  God's  tenderness. 
Imperial  soul,  star  of  a  weedy  stream, 
Born  where  the  ghosts  of  hujfaloes  still  dream. 
Whose  spirit  hoof-beats  storm  above  his  grave. 
Above  that  breast  of  earth  and  prairie-fire — 
Fire  that  freed  the  slave. 

Nicholas  .Vachel  Lindsay 


[367] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 

In  addition  to  the  personal  thanks  of  the  compiler  to 
the  publishers  and  the  living  authors  for  use  of  material 
not  in  public  domain,  or  not  elsewhere  credited,  these  ac- 
knowledgements are  gratefully  made  as  follows : 

D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  New  York,  "The  Death  of  Lincoln," 
by  William  Cullen  Bryant.* 

Barse  &  Hopkins,  New  York,  "The  Eyes  of  Lincoln," 
by  Walt  Mason,  from  "Walt  Mason,  His  Book." 

The  Century  Co.,  New  York,  and  Langdon  P.  Mitchell, 
Philadelphia,  "Lincoln,"  by  S.  Weir  Mitchell. 

W.  F.  Collins,  Montclair,  N.  J.,  "The  Statue  of  Lin- 
coln" (Borglum's). 

Louis  Bradford  Couch,  Nyack,  N.  Y.,  "The  Lincoln 
Boulder." 

William  Morris  Davis,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  "Lincoln's 
Hundredth  Birthday." 

C.  G.  Dickson,  Washington,  D.  C,  "The  Lincoln  High- 
way." 

Dodd,  Mead  &  Co.,  New  York,  "Lincoln,"  by  Paul 
Laurence  Dunbar. 

Nathan  Haskell  Dole,  Boston,  "Lincoln's  Birthday," 
from  his  "The  Pilgrims,"  published  by  the  author. 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Co.,  Garden  City,  N.  Y.,  "When 

*By  special  arrangement. 

[369] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


Lilacs  Last  In  the  Dooryard  Bloom'd,"  "Hushed  Be  the 
Camps  To-day/'  "This  Dust  Was  Once  the  Man,"  "O 
Captain!  My  Captain!"  by  Walt  Whitman;  and  "Lin- 
coln, the  Man  of  the  People,"  by  Edwin  Markham,  from 
his  "Lincoln,  and  Other  Poems." 

Hermann  Hagedorn,  New  York,  "Abraham  Lincoln: 
An  Ode." 

Harper  &  Brothers,  New  York,  "Lincoln,"  by  Dana 
Burnet. 

Leigh  Mitchell  Hodges,  Doylestown,  Pa.,  "Abraham 
Lincoln,"  and  "Citizenship." 

Houghton  Mifflin  Co.,  Boston  and  New  York,  "A 
Hero,"  "His  Face,"  and  "Leaders  of  Men,"  by  Florence 
Earle  Coates ;  "The  Life-Mask  of  Abraham  Lincoln,"  and 
"To  the  Spirit  of  Abraham  Lincoln,"  by  Richard  Watson 
Gilder ;  "The  First  American,"  from  "Ode  Recited  at  the 
Harvard  Commemoration,"  July  21,  1865,  by  James 
Russell  Lowell ;  "On  a  Bust  of  Lincoln,"  by  Clinton  Scol- 
lard;  "On  a  Bronze  Medal  of  Lincoln,"  by  Frank  Demp- 
ster Sherman* ;  "The  Dead  President,"  by  Edward  Row- 
land Sill;  "Abraham  Lincoln,"  and  "The  Hand  of  Lin- 
coln," by  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman*;  "Gettysburg 
Ode,"  by  Bayard  Taylor ;  "Lincoln's  Grave,"  by  Maurice 
Thompson;  "Lincoln,"  by  John  Townsend  Trowbridge; 
"The  Emancipation  Group,"  by  John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 

Mitchell  Kennerley,  New  York,  "Lincoln,"  by  Flor- 
ence Kiper  Frank;  "The  Man  of  Peace,"  by  Bliss  Car- 
man. 

*By  special  arrangement. 
[370] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


Little,  Brown  &  Co.,  Boston,  "Lincoln,"  by  Denis  A. 
McCarthy. 

The  Macmillan  Co.,  :N"ew  York,  "On  Lincoln's  Birth- 
day," by  John  Kendrick  Bangs ;  "Lincoln,"  and  "Abraham 
Lincoln  Walks  at  Midnight,"  by  Nicholas  Vachel  Lind- 
say ;  "jSTancy  Hanks  Lincoln,"  by  Harriet  Monroe. 

Edmond  S.  Meany,  Seattle,  "America  To  Europe,"  and 
"Walt  Whitman's  Sprig  of  Lilac." 

Wilbur  D.  N'esbit,  Chicago,  "Lincoln,"  and  "The  Man 
Lincoln." 

Woodbury  Pulsifer,  Washington,  D.  C,  "Lincoln's 
Birthday,  1918." 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  N'ew  York,  "The  Star  of  San- 
gamon," "The  People's  King,"  and  "The  Nation's 
Prophet,"  by  Lyman  Whitney  Allen,  from  his  "Abraham 
Lincoln:  A  Poem." 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  New  York,  "Abraham  Lin- 
coln" (Sonnet)  and  "Abraham  Lincoln"  (Ode),  hy 
Richard  Henry  Stoddard. 

E.  C.  Seward,  Guilford,  Conn.,  "Lincoln,  Feb.  12, 
1917." 

Small,  Maynard  &  Co.,  Boston,  the  "Chronology,"  and 
a  paragraph  in  the  Preface,  from  Brand  Whitlock's  "Life 
of  Abraham  Lincoln." 

Wendell  Phillips  Stafford,  Washington,  D.  C,  "Lin- 
coln," "Lincoln,  1865-1915,"  "One  of  Our  Presidents," 
and  "Washington  and  Lincoln." 

Stewart,  Kidd  &  Co.,  Cincinnati,  "Barnard's  Statue  of 

[371] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


Lincoln,"  by  Lyman  Whitney  Allen,  from  "Barnard's  Lin- 
coln." 

Frederick  A.  Stokes  Co.,  New  York,  "A  Farmer  Re- 
members Lincoln,"  by  Witter  Bynner,  from  his  "Gren- 
stone  Poems." 

Sturgis  &  Walton  Co.,  New  York,  "Abraham  Lincoln," 
by  Margaret  .  Sangster,  and  "The  Lincoln  Child,"  by 
James  Oppenheim. 

M.  Woolsey  Stryker,  Rome,  N.  Y.,  "Manibus  Date  Lilia 
Plenis." 

Leonard  C.  Van  Noppen,  The  Hague,  "Abraham  Lin- 
coln :  An  Elegy,"  from  his  "The  Challenge :  War  Chants 
of  the  Allies."     (London,  1918:  Elkin  Mathews.) 

H.  W.  Wack,  for  the  Committee  of  One  Hundred,  New- 
ark, N.  J.,  "Lincoln  Still  Lives,"  by  Charles  Mumford, 
from>  "The  Newark  Anniversary  Poems,"  published  by 
arrangement  with  the  Committee  of  One  Hundred,  by 
Laurence  J.  Gomme,  New  York. 


MAGAZINES  AND  NEWSPAPERS 

Atlantic  Monthly,  Boston,  "Lincoln,"  by  John  Vance 
Cheney. 

The  Century  Magazine,  New  York,  "The  Cenotaph  of 
Lincoln,"  by  James  T.  Mackay. 

Collier's   Weekly,    New   York,    "Lincoln's   Way,"   by 
Henry  Tyrrell. 
[372] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


D.  A.  K.  Magazine,  Washington,  D.  C,  "The  Lincoln 
Highway,"  by  Woodbury  Pulsifer. 

The  Evening  Star,  Washington,  D.  C,  "Abraham  Lin- 
coln," by  Thomas  H.  Herndon. 

Harper's  Weekly,  New  York,  "1809-Lincoln-1909,"  by 
Leigh  Mitchell  Hodges;  and  "Abraham  Lincoln,"  by  Reg- 
inald Wright  Kauffman. 

The  Independent,  New  York,  "Pillars  of  Hercules," 
by  Walter  F.  Longacre;  and  "Lincoln  and  Darwin,"  by 
Robert  Whitaker. 

The  Ladies'  Home  Journal,  Philadelphia,  "Their  Lin- 
coln," by  Stephen  W.  Meader. 

Leslie's  Weekly,  New  York,  "He  Leads  Us  Still,"  by 
Arthur  Guiterman;  and  "Abraham  Lincoln,"  "Lincoln 
Leads,"  and  "Lincoln's  Hat,"  by  Minna  Irving. 

Lippincott's,  Philadelphia,  "Lincoln's  Birthday,"  by 
John  Kendrick  Bangs. 

New  York  Tribune,  New  York,  "Lincoln,"  by  Kenyon 
West. 

North  American  Review,  New  York,  "Banner  Mem- 
ories," by  Nathan  Haskell  Dole. 

The  Outlook,  New  York,  "On  Saint-Gaudens'  Statue  of 
Lincoln,"  by  Frederick  Burton  Eddy;  and  "Lincoln,"  by 
Jane  L.  Hardy. 

Overland  Monthly,  San  Francisco,  "Abraham  Lincoln 
—The  Child:  The  Man:  The  Memory,"  by  Edmond  S. 
Meany. 

Poet  Lore,  Boston,  "The  Man  of  the  West,"  by  Fred 
Lewis  Pattee,  published  by  the  Poet  Lore  Co. 

[373] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


Poetry  Keview,  Boston,  "Lincoln,"  by  John  Gould 
Fletcher. 

The  Saturday  Evening  Post,  Philadelphia,  "Heroes  of 
Yesterday,"  by  Keginald  Wright  Kauffman. 

The  Seven  Arts,  New  York,  "Memories  of  Whitman 
and  Lincoln,"  by  James  Oppenheim. 

The  Sun,  New  York,  "To  Borglum's  Seated  Statue  of 
Abraham  Lincoln,"  by  Charlotte  Brewster  Jordan. 

Sunset  Magazine,  San  Francisco,  "Lincoln,"  by  Valeria 
Kelsey. 

The  Survey,  New  York,  "A  Lincoln  Legend,"  by  Char- 
lotte Brewster  Jordan. 

The  compiler  also  desires  to  thank  especially  Mr.  Fred- 
erick W.  Ashley  and  Dr.  Woodbury  Pulsif er  of  the  Library 
of  Congress,  and  Capt.  Earl  Munro  Jeffrey,  formerly  of 
the  same,  for  kind  and  valuable  assistance. 


[374] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Selected 

BIOGRAPHIES 

Lives  and  Speeches  of  Abraham  Lincoln  and  Hanni- 
bal Hamlin.  By  William  Dean  Howells  and  John 
L.  Hayes.  (Columbus,  Ohio,  1860:  Follett,  Foster 
&  Co.) 

Political  Debates  Between  Hon.  Abraham  Lincoln 
AND  Stephen  A.  Douglas,  in  the  Celebrated  Cam- 
paign OF  1858,  IN  Illinois,  etc.  (Columbus,  Ohio, 
1860:  Follett,  Foster  &  Co.)  Same,  with  address  at 
Cooper  Institute,  introduction  and  notes  by  Archibald 
L.  Bouton.     (I^ew  York,  1905:  II.  Holt  k  Co.) 

Life  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  etc.  By  Joseph  H.  Barrett. 
(Cincinnati,  1865:  Moore,  Wilstach  &  Baldwin.) 

Abraham  Lincoln,  His  Life  and  Public  Services.  By 
Phoebe  A.  C.  Hanaford.  (Boston,  1865:  B.  B.  Eus- 
sell  &  Co.)  Same,  with  additions.  (Chicago,  N"ew 
York,  1895:  The  Werner  Co.) 

The  Life  and  Public  Services  of  Abraham  Lincoln, 
etc.  By  Henry  J.  Raymond.  (ISTew  York,  1865: 
Derby  &  Miller.) 

The  History  of  Abraham  Lincoln  and  the  Over- 
throw OF  Slavery.  By  Isaac  N.  Arnold.  (Chi- 
cago, 1866:  Clarke  &  Co.) 

[375] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


Six  Months  at  the  White  House  with  Abraham  Lin- 
coln, ETC.  By  F.  B.  Carpenter.  (New  York,  1866 : 
Hurd  &  Houghton.) 

Life  of  Abkaham  Lincoln.  By  J.  G.  Holland. 
(Springfield,  Mass.,  1866:  G.  Bill.) 

The  Life  of  Abeaham  Lincoln,  Feom  His  Birth  to 
His  Inauguration  as  President.  By  Ward  H. 
Lamon.      (Boston,  1872:  J.  R.  Osgood  &  Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln  and  the  Abolition  of  Slavery  in 
the  United  States.  By  Charles  G.  Leland.  (New 
York,  1879:  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.) 

Reminiscences  of  Abraham  Lincoln  by  Distin- 
guished Men  of  His  Time.  Edited  by  Allen  Thorn- 
dike  Rice.  (New  York,  1886:  North  American  Pub- 
lishing Co.)  Same,  New  and  Revised  ed.  (New 
York  and  London,  1909:  Harper  &  Brothers.) 

Herndon's  Lincoln,  the  True  Story  of  a  Great  Life, 
etc.  By  William  H.  Herndon  and  Jesse  W.  Weik. 
(Chicago,  1889:  Belford,  Clarke  &  Co.)  Same. 
(New  York  and  London,  1916 :  D.  Appleton  &  Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln,  a  History  of  the  United  States 
From  the  Birth  of  Lincoln  to  the  Close  of  the 
Civil  War.  By  John  G.  Nicolay  and  John  Hay. 
lOv.  8vo.     (New  York,  1890:  The  Century  Co.) 

Life  on  the  Circuit  with  Lincoln,  etc.  By  Henry 
C.  Whitney.     (Boston,  1892 :  Estes  &  Lauriat.) 

The  Children's  Life  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  By  M. 
Louise  Putnam.   (Chicago,  1892:  A.  C.  McClurg  Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  By  John  T.  Morse,  Jr.  (Boston 
[376] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


and  New  York,  1893:  1899:  1909:  Houghton  Mifflin 

Co.) 
Abeaham  Lincoln.     By  Charles  Carleton  Coffin.    (New 

York,  1893:  Harper  &  Brothers.) 
The  Complete  Works  of  Abraham  Lincoln.     Ed.  by 

John  G.  Nicolay  and  John  Hay.     12v.  8vo.     (New 

York,  1894:  1902:  The  Century  Co.) 
Abraham  Lincoln  and  the  Downfall  of  American 

Slavery.     By    Noah    Brooks.     (New    York,    1894: 

1896:  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.) 
Abraham  Lincoln,  the  Man  of  the  People.     By  Nor- 
man Hapgood.     (New  York,  1899:  The  Macmillan 

Co.) 
The  Life  of  Abraham  Lincoln.     By  Ida  M.  Tarbell. 

(New  York,  1900:  The  Doubleday  &  McClure  Co.) 

New  Ed.  with  new  matter.     (New  York  and  Lon- 
don, 1917:  The  Macmillan  Co.) 
Lincoln,    the    Lawyer.     By    Frederick    Trevor    Hill. 

(New  York,  1906 :  The  Century  Co.) 
The  Boys'  Life  of  Abraham  Lincoln.     By  H.  Nicolay. 

(New  York,  1906:  The  Century  Co.) 
Lincoln,  Master  of  Men.     A  Study  of  Character.     By 

Alonzo  Kothschild.     (Boston  and  New  York,  1906: 

Houghton  Mifflin  Co.) 
Lincoln  in  the  Telegraph  Office.     By  David  Homer 

Bates.     (New  York,  1907 :  The  Century  Co.) 
Abraham  Lincoln.     By  Henry  Bryan  Binns.     (London, 

1907:  J.  M.  Dent  &  Co.;  New  York,  1907:  E.  P. 

Dutton  &  Co.) 

[377] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


Abraham  Lincoln,  the  Boy  and  the  Man.  By  James 
Morgan.     (N'ew  York,  1908:  The  Macmillan  Co.) 

The  Lincoln-Douglas  Debates  of  1858.  Vol.  I.  of 
Lincoln  Series;  Collections  of  the  Illinois  State  His- 
torical Library,  Vol.  III.  Edited  by  Edwin  E. 
Sparks.      (Springfield,  Illinois,  1908.) 

Abraham  Lincoln,  the  People's  Leader  in  the  Strug- 
gle FOR  National  Existence.  By  George  Haven 
Putnam.  (New  York  and  London,  1909:  G.  P.  Put- 
nam's Sons.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  By  Brand  Whitlock.  (Boston,  1909 : 
1916:  Small,  Maynard  &  Co.) 

The  Ancestry  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  By  J.  Henry 
Lea  and  J.  R.  Hutchinson.  (Boston  and  New  York, 
1909:  Houghton  Mifflin  Co.) 

Portrait  Life  of  Lincoln.  By  Francis  Trevelyan  Mil- 
ler. (Springfield,  Mass.,  New  York  and  Chicago, 
1910 :  The  Patriot  Publishing  Co.) 

Personal  Traits  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  By  Helen  Nic- 
olay.     (New  York,  1912 :  The  Century  Co.) 

Lincoln's  Own  Stories.  Collected  and  ed.  by  Anthony 
Gross.  (New  York  and  London,  1912:  Harper  & 
Brothers.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  By  Rose  Strunsky.  (London,  1914: 
Methuen&  Co.,  Ltd.) 

Abraham  Lincoln,  the  Lawyer-Statesman.  By  John 
T.  Richards.  (Boston  and  New  York,  1916:  Hough- 
ton Mifflin  Co.) 

"Honest  Abe."  A  study  in  integrity  based  on  the  early 
[378] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


life   of   Abraham    Lincoln.     By   Alonzo    Rothschild. 

(Boston  and  'New  York,  1917:  Houghton  Mifflin  Co.) 
Uncollected  Letteks   of   Abraham  Lincoln".      Now 

brought  together  by  Gilbert  A.  Tracy.      (Boston  and 

I^ew  York,  1917:  Houghton  Mifflin  Co.) 
Lincoln  in  Illinois.     By  Octavia  Roberts.     Hlus.  by 

Lester  G.  Hornby.     (Boston  and  New  York,  1918: 

Houghton  Mifflin  Co.) 
The  Voice  of  Lincoln.     By  R.  M.  Wanamaker.     (New 

York,  1918:  Charles  Scribner's  Sons.) 


ADDRESSES,  ESSAYS,   LECTURES, 
ORATIONS  AND  SERMONS 

President  Lincoln.  By  Edward  Everett.  Remarks  at 
the  dinner  to  Capt.  Winslow  and  the  officers  of  the 
Kearsarge,  Nov.  15,  1864.  In  his  Orations  and 
Speeches  on  Various  Occasions.  (Boston,  1865-72: 
Little,  Brown  and  Co.) 

Life  and  Death  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  A  sermon  by 
Phillips  Brooks,  preached  in  Philadelphia,  Apr.  23, 
1865.  (Philadelphia,  1865:  H.  B.  Ashmead,  printer.) 
Also  in  his  Addresses.  (Boston,  1893:  C.  E.  Brown 
&  Co. ;  New  York,  1899 :  Frederick  A.  Stokes  Co.) 

The  Death  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  A  sermon  by  Henry 
Ward  Beecher,  preached  in  Brooklyn,  Apr.  23,  1865. 
In  his  Oration  at  the  Raising  of  "The  Old  Flag"  at 
Sumter.     (Manchester,  England,  1865 :  A.  Ireland  & 

Co.) 

j:379] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


Abeaham  Lincoln.  By  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.  Ee- 
inarks  at  the  funeral  services  held  in  Concord,  April 
19,  1865.  In  his  Complete  Works.  (Boston,  1883- 
93 :  1903-04 :  Houghton  Mifflin  Co.)  Same.  Ed.  de 
Luxe.     (Philadelphia,  1906:  J.  D.  Morris  &  Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  Speech  of  Sir  George  Grey,  deliv- 
ered in  the  House  of  Commons,  London,  May,  1865. 

Eulogy  on  Abraham  Lincoln.  By  Josiah  Gilbert  Hol- 
land, pronounced  at  the  City  hall,  Springfield,  Mass., 
Apr.  19,  1865.  3rd  ed.  (Springfield,  1865:  S. 
Bowles  &  Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  Address  by  Wendell  Phillips,  in 
Boston,  Apr.  23,  1865.  In  his  Speeches,  Lectures  and 
Letters.     (Boston,  1891-92:  Lee  &  Shepard.) 

Eulogy  on  Abraham  Lincoln.  By  Charles  Sumner,  de- 
livered in  Boston,  June  1,  1865.  In  his  Works. 
(Boston,  1874:  Lee  &  Shepard.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  A  tribute,  by  George  Bancroft. 
(New  York,  1908:  A.  Wessells  Co.)  [Delivered  be- 
fore Congress  Feb.  12,  1866,  and  published  same 
year.] 

An  Estimate  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  By  Horace  Gree- 
ley. In  Greeley  on  Lincoln  and  Mr.  Greeley's  Letters, 
ed.  by  Joel  Benton.  (N'ew  York,  1893 :  The  Baker  & 
Taylor  Co.)  [First  published  in  Century  Magazine, 
1867.] 

Lincoln  and  Emancipation.     Address  by  James  Abram 
Garfield,  delivered  in  the  House  of  Representatives, 
[380] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


Feb.  12, 1878.  In  his  Works.     Ed.  by  Burke  A.  Hins- 
dale.    (Boston,  1882-83:  J.  R  Osgood  &  Co.) 

Abeaham  Lincoln.  A  paper  by  Isaac  Newton  Arnold, 
read  before  the  Eoyal  Historical  Society,  London, 
June  16,  1881.  (Chicago,  1881:  Fergus  Printing 
Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  An  essay  by  Carl  Scburz.  (Boston, 
Kew  York,  1891 ;  1899 :  Houghton  Mifflin  Co.)  Same, 
with  Essay  on  the  Portraits  of  Lincoln,  by  Truman 
Howe  Bartlett.  (Boston,  New  York,  1907:  Hough- 
ton Mifflin  Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  Address  by  the  Hon.  Chauncey 
Mitchell  Depew  at  Burlington,  Vt.,  Eeb.  12,  1895. 
In  his  Orations,  Addresses  and  Speeches.  Ed.  by 
John  Denison  Champlin.  (New  York,  1910:  Pri- 
vately printed.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  An  oration  by  Henry  Watterson, 
delivered  before  LincoLa  Union  .  .  .  Auditorium, 
Chicago,  Feb.  12,  1895.  (Louisville,  1899:  Courier- 
Journal  Job  Printing  Co.)  Same.  In  his  Compro- 
mises of  Life.  (New  York,  1903 :  Fox,  Duffield  & 
Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  A  lecture  by  Robert  Green  Inger- 
soU.  (New  York,  1895:  C.  P.  Farrell.)  Same. 
(New  York,  1907 :  John  Lane  Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln's  Birthday.  By  R.  R.  Wright.  In 
Abraham  Lincoln:  Tributes  from  his  Associates  .  .  . 
ed.  by  W.  H.  Ward.     (New  York,  Boston,  1895 :  T. 

Y.  Crowell  &  Co.) 

[381] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


Abeaham  Lincoln.  An  address  by  William  McKinley, 
before  the  Marquette  club,  Chicago,  Feb.  12,  1896. 
In  Life  and  Speeches  of  William  McKinley,  ed.  by 
J.  S.  Ogilvie.  (:N'ew  York,  1896:  J.  S.  Ogilvie  Pub- 
lishing Co.) 

Abeaham  Lincoln.  An  address  by  Benjamin  Harrison, 
delivered  at  the  Lincoln  day  banquet  of  the  Marquette 
club,  Chicago,  Feb.  12,  1898.  In  his  Views  of  an 
Ex-president.  (Indianapolis,  1901:  The  Bowen-Mer- 
rill  Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  By  James  Russell  Lowell.  In  his 
My  Study  Windows.  (Boston,  'New  York,  1899: 
Houghton  Mifflin  Co.) 

Abeaham  Lincoln.  Address  by  Joseph  Hodges  Choate, 
delivered  before  the  Edinburgh  Philosophical  Institu- 
tion N'ov.  13,  1900.  (London,  1901:  Harrison  & 
Sons,  printers.)  Same.  (Xew  York,  1901:  T.  Y. 
Crowell  &  Co.)  Same,  title  in  English  and  Japanese; 
text  in  Japanese.     (Tokio,  1907.) 

Abeaham  Lincoln.  By  Frederick  Harrison.  In  his 
George  Washington  and  Other  American  Addresses. 
(London,  New  York,  1901:  The  Macmillan  Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln — Wendell  Phillips;  a  Conteast 
AND  A  Paeallel.  By  Wendell  Phillips  Stafford. 
(Xew  York,  1903:  Eepublican  Club  Proceedings.) 

Abeaham  Lincoln.    Address  of  Hamilton  Wright  Mabie, 
delivered  at  the  annual  Lincoln  dinner  of  the  Repub- 
lican club  of  New  York,  Feb.  12,  1904.     In  **  (See 
at  end  of  this  group). 
[382] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


Abraham  Lincoln.  Address  of  Theodore  Roosevelt,  de- 
livered at  the  Lincoln  dinner  of  the  Republican  club 
of  New  York,  Feb.  13,  1905.  In  **  {See  at  end  of 
this  group). 

The  Greatness  of  Lincoln.  Address  of  Frederick  H. 
"Wines,  delivered  at  Lincoln  monument,  Springfield, 
111.,  May  30,  1905.     (Springfield,  111.,  1905.) 

The  Portraits  of  Lincoln.    An  essay  by  Truman  Howe 
Bartlett.     In  Abraham  Lincoln ;  a  biographical  essay, 
by  Carl  Schurz.     (Boston,  New  York,  1907:  Hough- 
ton, Mifflin  Co.) 

Lincoln  the  Man  of  Sorrow.  By  Eugene  Wilder 
Chafin.    (Chicago,  1908:  Lincoln  Temperance  Press.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  Speech  of  Charles  Evans  Hughes, 
at  the  Lincoln  dinner  of  the  Republican  club  of  New 
York,  Feb.  12,  1908.  In  **  (See  at  end  of  this  group). 

Abraham  Lincoln.  Oration  by  Alexander  Kelly  Mc- 
Clure,  before  the  Historical  Society  of  Pennsylvania, 
Feb.  12,  1909.  In  Minutes  of  the  meeting  of  the 
Law  Association  of  Philadelphia.  (Philadelphia, 
1909:  Made  at  the  Sign  of  the  Ivy  Leaf.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  Address  of  Booker  T.  Washington, 
at  the  Lincoln  dinner  of  the  Republican  club  of  New 
York,  Feb.  12,  1909.  In  **  (See  at  end  of  this  group). 

Abraham  Lincoln.  Address  by  Henry  Cabot  Lodge,  de- 
livered before  a  joint  convention  of  the  Senate  and 
House  of  Representatives  of  the  General  Court  of 
Massachusetts,  Feb.  12,  1909.  (Boston,  1909 :  Wright 
&  Potter  Printing  Co.) 

[383] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


FfiOM  Washington  to  Lincoln.  Address  of  Henry 
VanDyke,  at  the  Lincoln  centenary  celebration  in 
Paris,  France.    In  *  {See  at  end  of  this  group). 

Lincoln  and  His  Times.  Address  of  Wendell  Phillips 
Stafford,  delivered  before  the  Lawyers'  club  of  Buf- 
falo, N.  Y.,  Feb.  13,  1909.  In  his  Speeches.  (St. 
Johnsbury,  Vt.,  1913 :  Arthur  F.  Stone.) 

Lincoln  the  Leader,  and  Lincoln's  Genius  fok  Ex- 
PEESsioN.  By  Richard  Watson  Gilder.  (Boston  and 
New  York,  1909:  Houghton  Mifflin  Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  Speech  of  Joseph  Gurney  Cannon 
of  Illinois,  before  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  Pitts- 
burgh, Pa.,  Feb.  12,  1910.  (Washington,  1910 :  Govt. 
Print.  Off.) 

Abeaham  Lincoln  a  Lovee  of  Mankind.  An  essay  by 
Eliot  Norton.  (New  York,  1911:  Moffat,  Yard  &  Co.) 

Abeaham  Lincoln's  Cardinal  Traits.  A  study  in  eth- 
ics, by  Clark  Smith  Beardslee.  (Boston,  1914:  R.  G. 
Badger.) 

Address  of  Peesident  Wilson,  accepting  the  Lincoln 
homestead  at  Hodgensville,  Ky.,  presented  to  the  gov- 
ernment by  the  Lincoln  Farm  Association,  Sept.  4, 
1916.     (Washington,  1916:  Govt.  Print.  Off.) 

Abeaham  Lincoln.  Three  addresses  by  Melancthon 
Woolsey  Stryker.  (Kirkland,  N.  Y.,  1917:  The  Au- 
thor.) 

Peesentation  Addeess.     By  William  Howard  Taft,  on 
the  occasion  of  the  dedication  of  Barnard's  statue  of 
Lincoln,  in  the  City  of  Cincinnati,  March  31,  1917. 
[384] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


In  Barnard's  Lincoln.     (Cincinnati,  1917:  Stewart  & 

Kidd  Co.) 
*Abeaham  Lincoln  :  the  Tbieute  of  a  Century.    Ed. 

by  Nathan  William  MacChesney.      (Chicago,   1910: 

A.  C.  McClurg&Co.) 
**Addresses.     Delivered  at  the  Lincoln  dinners  of  the 

Eepublican  club  of  the  City  of  New  York,  in  response 

to  the  toast:  Abraham  Lincoln.     1887-1909.     (New 

York,  1909  :  Privately  printed  for  the  Republican  club 

of  the  City  of  New  York.) 

The  two  valuable  volumes  last  listed  contain  many  other  notable 
addresses  on  and  tributes  to  Abraham  Lincoln. 


POETRY 

Poetical  Tributes  to  the  Memory  of  Abraham  Lin- 
coln.    (Philadelphia,  1865:  J.  B.  Lippincott  Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  A  poem,  by  Lyman  Whitney  Allen. 
(New  York  and  London,  1895;  4th  ed.  1909:  G.  P. 
Putnam's  Sons.) 

The  Memory  of  Lincoln.  Selected  by  M.  A.  DeW. 
Howe.     (Boston,  1899:  Small,  Maynard  &  Co.) 

The  Burden  Bearer.  An  epic  of  Lincoln,  by  Francis 
Howard  Williams.  (Philadelphia,  1908:  George  W. 
Jacobs  Co.) 

The  Praise  of  Lincoln.  Collected  and  arranged  by  A. 
Dallas  Williams.  (Indianapolis,  1911:  The  Bobbs- 
Merrill  Co.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.    A  poetical  interpretation,  by  George 

[385] 


THE  BOOK  OF  LINCOLN 


William  Bell.     (Cleveland,  1913:  Privately  printed 
for  the  author  by  The  Arthur  H.  Clark  Co.) 
The  Poets'  Lincoln.     Selected  by  Osborn  H.  Oldroyd. 
(Washington,  D.  C,  1915:  The  Editor.) 

SHORT  STORIES 

Founded  on  Incidents  in  the  Life  of  Lincoln. 
(Suitable  for  telling  or  reading  aloud) 

He  Knew  Lincoln.  By  Ida  M.  Tarbell.  (New  Tork, 
1907:  McClure,  Phillips  &  Co.) 

The  Perfect  Tribute.  By  Mary  Raymond  Shipman 
Andrews.  (IsTew  York,  1907:  Charles  Scribner's 
Sons.) 

The  Toy  Shop.  By  Margarita  Spaulding  Gerry.  (New 
York,  1908:  Harper  &  Brothers.) 

Father  Abraham.  By  Ida  M.  Tarbell.  (New  York, 
1909:  Moffat,  Yard  &  Co.) 

Lincoln  and  the  Sleeping  Sentinel.  By  L.  E.  Chit- 
tenden. (New  York  and  London,  1909:  Harper  & 
Brothers.) 

The  Counsel  Assigned.  By  Mary  Raymond  Shipman 
Andrews.  (New  York,  1912:  Charles  Scribner's 
Sons.) 

Abraham  Lincoln.  A  story  and  a  play,  by  Mary  Hazel- 
tine  Wade.     (Boston,  1914:  Richard  G.  Badger.) 

Benefits  Forgot.     A  story  of  Lincoln  and  mother  love. 
By    Honore    McCue    Wilsie.     (New    York,    1917: 
Frederick  A.  Stokes  Co.) 
[386] 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 

PAGE 

Allen,  Ljman  Whitney 106,  119,  123,  246,  351 

Anonymous 85,  143 

B.,  F 202 

Bangs,  John  Kendrick 293,  303,  311 

Bennett,  Emily  Thacher 332 

Boyle,  Virginia  Frazer 284 

Bryant,  John  H 229 

Bryant,  William  Ciillen 139 

Burnet,   Dana 254 

Bynner,  Witter 341 

Campadelli,  F 197,  198 

Carman,  Bliss 312 

Cheney,  John  Vance 99,  115,  327 

Coates,  Florence  Earle vii,  103,  328 

Collins,  W.  F 235 

Couch,  Louis  Bradford 241 

Davis,  William  Morris 289 

Dickson,  C.  G 353 

Dole,  Nathan  Haskell 287,  294 

Dunbar,  Paul  Laurence 114 

Eddv,  Frederick  Burton 226 

Fletcher,  John  Gould 267 

Frank,  Florence  Kiper 258 

[387] 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 


Gibbons,  James  Sloane 356 

Gilder,  Eichard  Watson 232,  266 

Gray,  Grace  W 184 

Guiterman,  Arthur 274 

Hagedorn,    Hermann 277 

Hardy,  Jane  L 101 

Herndon,  Thomas  H 256 

Hodges,  Leigh  Mitchell 263,  315,  335 

Irving,  Minna 113,  347,  359 

Johnson,  Robert  Underwood 223 

Jordan,  Charlotte  Brewster 236,  331 

Kauffman,  Reginald  Wright 259,  354 

Kelsey,  Valeria 100 

L'Alloux,    Anguste 187 

Leighton,    Robert 186 

Lindsay,  Nicholas  Vachel 272,  367 

Longacre,  Walter  F 363 

Lowell,  James  Russell 91 

Lusine,  J.   C 190 

McCarthy,  Denis  A 345 

Mackay,  James  T 253 

Markham,  Edwin 94 

Mason,  Walt 330 

Meader,  Stephen  W 238 

Meany,  Edmond  S .  104,  174,  336 

Mitchell,  S.  Weir Ill 

Monroe,  Harriet 81,  255 

Mumford,  Charles 239 

Nesbit,  Wilbur  D 121,  261 

[388] 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


FASE 

ISTewman,  John  Philip 65 

Oilier,  Edmund 87 

Oppenheim,  James 175,  316 

Pattee,  Fred  Lewis 71 

Piatt,  John  James 86 

Pulsifer,  Woodbury 310,  343 

Robinson,  Edwin  Arlington 96 

Sangster,  Margaret  E 117 

Scollard,  Clinton 227 

Seward,  E.  C 308 

Sherman,  Frank  Dempster 228 

Sill,  Edward  Rowland 141 

Stafford,  Wendell  Phillips 237,  249,  260,  364 

Stedman,  Edmund  Clarence 140,  243 

Stoddard,  Richard  Henry 124,  144 

Stryker,  M.  Woolsey 102 

Taylor,  Bayard 127 

Taylor,  Tom 153 

Thompson,   Maurice 205 

Thouzery,  Paul 192 

Trowbridge,  John  Townsend 240 

Tyrrell,  Henry 110,  349 

Van  ^N'oppen,  Leonard  Charles 304 

West,  Kenyon 340 

Whitaker,  Robert 112,  339 

Whitman,  Walt 158,  160,  161,  162 

Whittier,  John  Greenleaf 233 


[389] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 


A  Abraliam  Lincoln Thouzery   192 

A  Bird  in  Lincoln's  Tomb Bennett    332 

A  Farmer  Eemembers  Lincoln .  . .  Bynner 341 

A  Hero Coates    103 

A  Lincoln  Legend Jordan 331 

Abraham  Lincoln Bryant,  J,  H.   ...  229 

Abraham  Lincoln Cheney 99 

Abraham  Lincoln Gray 184 

Abraham  Lincoln Herndon    256 

Abraham  Lincoln Hodges 263 

Abraham  Lincoln Irving 113 

Abraham  Lincoln Kaujfman    259 

Abraham  Lincoln Letghton 186 

Abraham  Lincoln Meany    104 

Abraham  Lincoln Sangster 117 

Abraham  Lincoln Stedman 140 

Abraham  Lincoln Stoddard  (Ode)  144 

Abraham  Lincoln Stoddard  (Sonnet)  124 

Abraham  Lincoln Taylor,  Tom 153 

Abraham  Lincoln Tan  Noppen  ....  304 

Abraham  Lincoln Whitalcer   112 

Abraham  Lincoln,  1809-1909 Boyle   284 

[3  90] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 

A.braliam  Lincoln,  ou  le  Triomphe 

de  I'Union  Americaine Campadelli 198 

Abraham  Lincoln  Walks  at  Mid- 
night    Lindsay   272 

Abraham  Lincoln's  Place  in  His- 
tory    Newman 65 

America  to  Europe Meany    336 

Banner  Memories Dole 294 

Barnard's  Statue  of  Lincoln Allen    246 

Citizenship    Hodges 335 

Gettysburg  Ode Taylor,  Bayard  .  .  127 

He  Leads  Us  Still Guiterman 274 

Heroes  of  Yesterday Kauffman 354 

His  Face Coates 328 

Hushed  Be  the  Camps  To-day.  . .  ^Yhitman   160 

In  Token  of  Eespect .B.,  F 202 

Leaders  of  Men Coates vii 

Lincoln Anonymous    143 

Lincoln Burnet   254 

Lincoln Cheney 115 

Lincoln Dunhar 114 

Lincoln Fletcher 267 

Lincoln Frank 258 

Lincoln Hardy    101 

Lincoln Kelsey    100 

Lincoln Lindsay   367 

Lincoln McCarthy 345 

Lincoln Mitchell Ill 

Lincoln ]\Ionroe 255 

[391] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 

Lincoln Neshit    121 

Lincoln Seward 308 

Lincoln Stajford 260 

Lincoln Trowbridge    240 

Lincoln Tyrrell 110 

Lincoln West 340 

Lincoln:  An  Ode Hagedorn 277 

Lincoln,  1809-1909 Hodges 315 

Lincoln,  1865-1915 Stafford   249 

Lincoln  and  Darwin Whitaker 339 

Lincoln  Leads Irving    359 

Lincoln  Still  Lives Mumford 239 

Lincoln,  the  Man  of  the  V eo-ple .  MarJcham 94 

Lincoln's  Birthday Bangs 293 

Lincoln's  Birthday Dole 287 

Lincoln's  Birthday,  1918 Batigs 311 

Lincoln's  Birthday,  1918 Pulsifer 310 

Lincoln's  Grave   Thompson    205 

Lincoln's  Hat Irving 347 

Lincoln's  Hundredth  Birthday  .  .Davis 289 

Lincoln's  Pew    Allen   351 

Lincoln's  Way    ' Tyrrell 349 

"Manibus  Date  Lilia  Plenis" Stryker 102 

Memories  of  Whitman  and  Lin- 
coln    Oppenheim 175 

iN'ancy  Hanks  Lincoln Monroe 81 

O  Captain !  My  Captain ! Whitman 158 

On  a  Bronze  Medal  of  Lincoln.  .  .Sherman 228 

On  a  Bust  of  Lincoln Scollard 227 

[392] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 


On  a  Picture  of  Lincoln Cheney 327 

On  Lincoln's  Bii'thday Bangs 303 

On  Saint-Gaudens'  Statue  of  Lin- 
coln    Eddy    226 

''One  of   Our   Presidents" Stafford   237 

Pillars  of  Hercules Longacre    363 

Saint-Gaudens'  Lincoln Johnson 223 

Such  and  So  Gifted,  Lincoln Piatt 86 

The  Cenotaph  of  Lincoln Mackay    253 

The  Dead  President Sill 141 

The  Death  of  Lincoln Bryant,  W.  C.  ...    139 

The  Emancipation  Group Whittier 233 

The  Eyes  of  Lincoln Mason 330 

The  First  American Lowell    91 

The  Hand  of  Lincoln Stedman 243 

The  Life-Mask  of  Abraham  Lin- 
coln    Gilder    232 

The  Lincoln  Boulder Couch 241 

The  Lincoln  Child Oppenheim    316 

The  Lincoln  Highway Dickson    353 

The  Lincoln  Highway Pulsifer 343 

The  Lincoln  Statue  (Borglum, 

sculptor)    Collins 235 

The  Man  Lincoln Nesbit    261 

The  Man  of  Peace Carman   312 

The  Man  of  the  West Pattee 71 

The  Master Robinson    96 

The  N'ation's  Prophet Allen    123 

The  People's  King Allen    119 

[393] 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


PAGE 


The  Star  of  Sangamon Allen   106 

Their  Lincoln Header 238 

This  Dust  Was  Once  the  Man.  . . .  Whitman   161 

To  Borghim's   Seated  Statue  of 

Abraham  Lincoln Jordan 236 

To  President  Lincoln Anonymous   85 

To  President  Lincoln,  Jan.  1, 

1863 Oilier 87 

To  the  Memory  of  Mr.  Abraham 
Lincoln,  President  of  the  Re- 
public of  the  United  States  of 
America L'Alloux    187 

To  the  Spirit  of  Abraham  Lin- 
coln    Gilder 266 

Tin  Eameau  d'Immortelle Lusine    190 

Walt  Whitman's  Sprig  of  Lilac.  .Meany    174 

Washington  and  Lincoln .Stafford  ........   36-4 

We  Are  Coming,  Father  Abra- 
ham   G'lbhons   356 

When  Lilacs  Last  in  the  Door- 
yard  Bloom'd Whitman   162 


[394] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

A  day  of  joy,  a  holiday 303 

A  flying  word  from  here  and  there 96 

A  little  group  of  merry  children  played 226 

A  man  who  drew  his  strength  from  all 235 

A  Nation  called  through  the  gloom 106 

A  Nation — nor  one  only — mourns  thy  loss 184 

A  sacred  day  is  this 293 

Across  the  page  of  history 359 

After  the  eyes  that  looked,  the  lips  that  spake 127 

Alone  upon  the  hroad,  low  bench  he  sits 236 

Amidst  thy  sacred  effigies 233 

And,  lo !  leading  a  blessed  host  comes  one 255 

And  so  they  buried  Lincoln?     Strange  and  vain.  .  .  .    253 

As  back  we  look  across  the  ages 287 

As  by  the  fire,  a  knot  of  pine  for  light 104 

Born  on  the  selfsame  day,  wide  seas  apart 339 

Chained  by  stern  duty  to  the  rock  of  state Ill 

Child  of  the  boundless  prairie,  son  of  the  virgin  soil  117 

Children  loved  him  long  ago 238 

Citizen  I — by  birth  or  grant  of  court 335 

Clearing  in  the  forest 316 

Dare  we  despair?  Through  all  the  nights  and  days.  .   274 

Fate  struck  the  hour 101 

"Forgive  them  for  they  know  not  what  they  do" ....    140 

[395] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


PAGE 


From  humble  parentage  and  low  degree 202 

Grant  is  asleep  in  his  great  white  tomb 354 

Greatheart,  so  lowly  born,  so  rudely  bred 102 

Hail,  Lincoln,  to  thy  spirit,  upon  this  day 304 

He  sang  of  joy;  whate'er  he  knew  of  sadness 103 

He  sits  there  on  the  low,  rude,  backless  bench 237 

Heroic  soul,  in  homely  garb  half  hid 240 

His  people  called  and  forth  he  came 99 

His  was  the  woodsman's  rugged  frame 113 

Hurt  was  the  nation  with  a  mighty  wound 114 

Hushed  be  the  camps  to-day 160 

I  read  once  more  this  care-worn,  patient  face 327 

I  think  he  is  not  dead — I  think  his  face 254 

I  wept  by  Lincoln's  pall  when  children's  tears 223 

It  is  portentous,  and  a  thing  of  state 272 

It  was  ^'fitting  and  proper,"  our  Lincoln  said 310 

Just  fifty  years  ago  today 331 

Large  and  loving,  rudely  tender,  with  a  heart 349 

Le  monde  gemissait  de  cette  lutte  immense 198 

Let  memory  whiten  her  wall 308 

Let  silence  sink  upon  the  hills  and  vales 277 

Life  may  be  given  in  many  ways 91 

Like  a  gaunt,  scraggly  pine 267 

Lilacs  shall  bloom  for  ^Yalt  "Whitman 175 

Lincoln  arose!  the  masterful  great  man 110 

Lincoln,  grand  citoyen,  fils  de  la  liberte 190 

Lincoln,  that  with  thy  steadfast  truth  the  sand 87 

Lincoln !  "Thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hour !"....  340 

Lincoln  ?    Well,  I  was  in  the  old  Second  Maine 341 

[396] 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

Lincoln !    When  men  would  name  a  man 143 

Look  on  this  cast  and  know  the  hand 243 

Man's  saviours  are  men's  martyrs — even  thus 259 

May  one  who  fought  in  honour  for  the  South 205 

Men  call  him  gi-eat,  where  once  of  old 256 

No  trumpet  blared  the  word  that  he  was  born 284 

Not  as  the  great  who  grow  more  gi'eat 261 

Not  as  when  some  great  Captain  falls 144 

Not  oft  such  marvel  the  years  reveal 119 

Not  one  of  all  earth's  wise  and  good 229 

O  Captain !  my  Captain,  our  fearful  trip  is  done.  .  .  .  158 

O  Mighty  Boulder,  wrought  by  God's  owm  hand 241 

O  thou  that  on  that  April  day 249 

Oh,  not  in  kaisers  or  in  kings 345 

Oh,  slow  to  smite  and  swift  to  spare 139 

Once  more,  O  heart,  caress  this  humble  bush 174 

One  night  while  Freedom  slept  she  dreamed  she  died  315 

One  time  I  touched,  with  reverence,  the  cast 263 

Oui,  ce  n'est  que  trop  vrai,  la  fatale  nouvelle 192 

Out  of  the  West  a  Man 71 

Prairie  child,  brief  as  dew 81 

Proudest  of  all  earth's  thrones 85 

Sad  eyes  that  were  patient  and  tender 330 

Say — if  men  ask  for  him — he  has  gone  home 260 

vShade  of  our  greatest,  O  look  down  to-day 266 

Sic  semper  tyrannis!"  the  assassin  cried 186 

Stern  be  the  pilot  in  the  dreadful  hour 86 

The  air  is  vibrant  as  if  some  cosmic  jar 336 

The  clay  again  has  found  a  dowered  hand 246 

[397] 


i( 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


PAGE 

Tlie  hour  was  come,  and  with  it  rose  the  man 123 

The  lone  ship  pkmges  on  her  trackless  way 294 

The  relic  of  a  past  decade 347 

The  works  of  Satan  fill  the  earth  with  pain 187 

There  is  no  name  in  all  our  country's  story 112 

They  tell  you  Lincoln  was  ungainly,  plain 328 

This  bronze  doth  keep  the  very  form  and  mould 232 

This  bronze  our  Lincoln's  noble  head  doth  bear 228 

This  dust  was  once  the  man 161 

This  man  whose  homely  face  you  look  upon 124 

This  mask  of  bronze  cannot  conceal  his  heart 239 

This  was  a  man  of  mighty  mould 227 

Three  thousand  miles  from  sea  to  sea 343 

To  save  the  land  then  rent  in  twain 353 

Two  massive  rocks,  tradition  flung 363 

Two  stars  alone  of  primal  magnitude 364 

^e  are  coming,  Father  Abraham,  three  hundred  thou- 
sand more 356 

We  mark  the  lowly  place  where  he  was  born 121 

"We  name  a  day  and  thus  commemorate 289 

Were  there  no  crowns  on  earth 141 

What  answer  shall  we  make  to  them  that  seek 258 

What  name  is  this  ?    Art  more  than  voice 332 

What  winter  holiday  is  this 312 

When  I  remember  how  he  dauntless  stood 100 

When  lilacs  last  in  the  doorvard  bloom'd 162 

When  overburdened  with  its  care 311 

When  the  Norn-Mother  saw  the  Whirlwind  hour.  ...  94 

When  they  are  dead  we  heap  the  laurels  high vii 

[398] 


LiSUtLA.   Ur    Jflll&l     l.liML?> 


PAGE 


Within  the  historic  church  both  eye  and  soul 351 

Would  I  might  rouse  the  Lincoln  in  you  all 367 

Yon  red  orb,  in  fame's  azure  hung 115 

You  lay  a  wreath  on  murdered  Lincoln's  bier 153 


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